Old Scars and New Wounds
by Alairas
Summary: AU: What if the battle at Ostagar had been a victory instead of a defeat? What if the Tower of Ishal had not been breached by the darkspawn, and Loghain hadn't abandoned the king and Wardens to their fate? F!Tabris/Alistair/Loghain/Cailan/Duncan
1. Chapter 1

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is very AU. What if the Tower of Ishal had not been breached by the darkspawn? What if Loghain and his army had not abandoned Cailan and the Grey Wardens to their fate? What if Ferelden had had more than just two Grey Wardens during the Blight? This story takes place immediately following the battle at Ostagar, only instead of death and betrayal, the Wardens and the king's men won another victory against the darkspawn. There are some dark elements in the beginning at least, as the feelings about the events occurring during the background of a city elf are explored._

Something hit the ground with a sloshing, slapping sound, and Sayre glanced to her side to see the wineskin rolling to bump against her leg. She had absolutely no desire to drink, to get drunk and celebrate with the other Grey Wardens, and she had hoped that seating herself as far away from the party as possible would allow her some sort of privacy, but she could see that she was wrong. Sayre lowered her knees, which had been pulled up to her chest, and tilted her head up to see who had tossed her the wine.

The fighting earlier in the day had been fierce, and there had been a high number of casualties. Even as the other Wardens drank and sang and talked loudly of their grand exploits, all of which had just occurred only a few hours earlier, the bodies of their fallen brethren lay on the fields below. That had troubled Sayre to no end. Did humans care so little for their own that they would let them lie in the cold and the mud, the slain among the Wardens and the king's men lying alongside the dead darkspawn, while they reveled in their so-called victory? She knew the pyres for the dead would be built in the morning, once the sun rose over the horizon, but it somehow seemed wrong to celebrate before that was done.

Sayre had only recently arrived in Ostagar, had only recently completed the Joining to become one of the fabled Grey Wardens, though she'd had little choice in the matter. It was become a Grey Warden or face the hangman's noose for her crimes against the late Bann Vaughan. And really, even there she didn't have a choice. Duncan had used the Right of Conscription, which meant she would not have to face arrest and a stay in Fort Drakon, but it also meant she would never return to the alienage, would never see her father or Soris or Shianni again. So she had left Denerim with Duncan, to travel to Ostagar. He claimed to have known her mother, and Sayre found him at least reliably trustworthy. For a human. For a man. At least he had never tried to touch her.

But if she had been expecting to be treated differently in Ostagar than she had been in Denerim, Sayre was sorely mistaken. She was a woman and an elf, and there were few enough of either around. Most were either servants or priests, and Sayre suddenly found herself very alone among a large group of human men, most of whom talked too loudly and drank too much, and often looked at her too long in that way men had that said the knew just what an elven woman was supposed to be good for. Worst of all, though, was that when it came time for the battle, she hadn't even been allowed to fight. She had been sent, along with one other Grey Warden, to climb to the top of a tower to light a signal fire. It was humiliating enough that they thought that was the best use of her abilities, but they hadn't even trusted her to be able to manage it on her own? As the Wardens and king's men fought in the valley below, she and her fellow Grey Warden, a man named Alistair, had climbed to the top of the empty tower, lit the fire when required, and watched the battle play out below them. Of course, he had been just as disappointed with his assignment during the battle as she had been. So while the others celebrated their victory against the darkspawn in the fields of Ostagar, Sayre sat and sulked. She had done nothing worth celebrating.

However, it seemed the man standing at her side thought differently. When Sayre didn't pick up the wineskin, he sat down at her side, rather ungracefully, she noted. He picked up the skin and held it out to her. "Pretty girl like you shouldn't be sitting here, all by herself. Have a drink. Join the celebration."

Sayre felt like she could likely become intoxicated just from the fumes coming from the man's breath. He had obviously consumed his fair share of wine, and then some. "I'm... not thirsty, Your Majesty, but thank you," she said carefully.

King Cailan gave her a sideways glance. "It's not a matter of thirst," he said, his tone cheerful. And loud. He continued to hold the skin up. "Have a drink. I insist."

As uncomfortable as he made her, the man was her king, and she could not refuse a direct order, no matter how ridiculous she found it to be. She took the skin from his hands, trying not to wince as Cailan allowed his fingers to brush over her own. Sayre tilted the wineskin up, letting the dark fluid just barely touch her lips before lowering it again. "Thank you, Your Majesty," she said, unsure what else to say as she held the skin out for him to reclaim.

Cailan waved her off. "Oh, I'm sure you need more than that. And I'm sure that some would say I've had more than enough, so keep it. Drink it so that I won't." His smile was too wide, and he sat too close, and it took everything in her power not to move away from him.

Sayre had not always been so skittish around humans. She had grown accustomed to the ways they looked down their noses at her kind. It was not something she enjoyed, not something _any _elf enjoyed, but she'd always been able to tolerate it. But then Vaughan and his friends had shown up, on the day of her wedding no less, to treat her and her friends as if they were whores, as if the alienage was their own personal brothel. Some elven women gave themselves willingly to the human men who came looking for such things, thinking it would gain them something from those... activities, but Sayre was not such a woman. She had been lucky to escape from the bann's estate with her virginity intact, but her cousin, Shianni, had not been so fortunate. Sayre held herself solely responsible for what had happened, but her faith in humans, what little she'd had, was shaken to its core. Her friends and family were attacked, some were killed, and _she _was the one who would have been arrested?

Vaughan's words came to her. _You know elves, every now and then they get this idea in their heads that they're people. _Logically, Sayre knew that not all humans felt that way, not all mistreated elves the way she had been, but the acts committed against her and her family could not be pushed aside so quickly. A few months ago, she might have been flattered to receive the attention of a king, but no longer. Especially when he smiled at her the way he did, when he sat so close that he just barely touched her leg with the back of his hand. His touch made her shiver, and she drew away from him, the irrational fear she felt making her heart thud in her chest. She was stronger than this, braver than this. He was the king. He was not going to do anything... untoward. She was a Grey Warden now. Surely if Cailan were to overstep his bounds, someone would come to her aid. Sayre glanced around, dismayed to find that no one was really paying attention to them that she could see. But then her eyes passed over Alistair.

He, too, was sitting away from the others, likely not participating in the celebrations because he felt as unworthy of it as she had. He had been looking in their direction, but when her eyes met his, he scowled and looked away. Like most of the people in Ostagar, she had been wary of him at first, but when she had learned that he'd been raised in the Chantry to become a templar, that had eased some of her worry concerning him. Like priests, templars took vows of celibacy, and that fact comforted her a little. But the look he'd just given her hadn't been a pleasant one. Perhaps he saw her sitting next to the king and assumed the worst. Sayre then looked around for the only other Grey Warden she might hope to intercede on her behalf, but Duncan was nowhere to be seen. No, it seemed she was left to deal with the king on her own. He was married, it was true, but she'd always heard the whispered gossip that alleged the king had a bit of a wandering eye. The thought did not sit well with Sayre, and when she felt his hand brush against her cheek, she jerked back violently from him.

Cailan chuckled, holding up a hand. "You just... had something in your hair," he said, then made as if to drop whatever he'd plucked from her hair, though she had seen nothing in his hand. "No need to be so jumpy. I won't bite. Though I noticed you shivering. It _is _quite cold out here. I hear that the tents they supply to the Wardens don't do much to keep out the cold, but my own tent is actually quite cozy. Perhaps you would like to... join me there?"

In the past, Sayre would have been outraged by his suggestion, by his presumption that she would even consider such an offer, and she tried to feed the flames of anger that passed through her. Mostly, though, she was afraid. It had been a request, not an order, so she could refuse, of course, but how might a king respond to such a refusal? He hadn't been like this when she met him upon arriving in Ostagar. He had been kind, even respectful. Even before the battle, when he had informed her of her part in lighting the signal fire, he had not looked at her the way he currently was. But then, she'd heard of battlelust before, and there had been a few elves living in the alienage that worked at one of the local brothels who would mention that men returning from battle always seemed to find coin to spend on alcohol and women. Or men, depending on their interests. Cailan had already found his alcohol.

Sayre pulled her knees back up to her chest, trying to still her trembling. As she tried to figure out what she would say, how she would turn him away, she couldn't help but wonder if Duncan would have still wanted her for the Wardens had he known what a coward she'd become. However, footsteps approached, and Sayre was saved the need to respond to the king.

"Your Majesty," said a cold voice, and they both looked up. Teyrn Loghain stood over them, the frown on his face encompassing them both. Sayre winced at the look he gave her, one that clearly said he found her to be responsible for the king's presence at her side. She couldn't say for sure what her own face showed, but the teyrn's expression softened towards her just a touch before turning to Cailan. For him, Loghain showed no softness. "Perhaps it is time for you to retire," said Loghain. "Building the pyres will take much of our energy tomorrow, and you will need to be present for the entirety of it."

Cailen let out an easy laugh, leaning back on a hand that he strategically placed so that it was behind Sayre's back, though at least he was not touching her. Still, she hunched in on herself even further. "Be at ease, Loghain," Cailan said. "We have won a great victory tonight, and we all deserve a chance to celebrate. The darkspawn were driven back by our might. I believe we have ended a Blight before it even had a chance to begin. Tonight we should be allowed to have our... fun."

Sayre could actually hear Loghain's teeth grinding against each other, and a sudden realization hit her, one so obvious she almost slapped her own forehead. Loghain was the queen's father. What must he think, to see his daughter's husband at the side of another woman? "I think you have had enough fun for one night," Loghain said evenly.

"I am your king," Cailan said, all indignation and self-righteousness. "It is not for you to say when I've had enough of anything."

"Perhaps this is a conversation best continued in private?" Loghain suggested, his face still an icy mask of disapproval.

Cailen let out a dramatic sigh and stood up. "Fine, as you wish." He gave Sayre a smile. "Perhaps we can finish our own conversation some other time, my lady," he said, giving her the smallest of winks before turning back to Loghain.

The teyrn gave Sayre a look, and she offered him a grateful smile. He seemed puzzled for a moment, but then he nodded his head ever so slightly before he and the king began walking back towards the others. They had only gone a short ways when Cailan let out a boisterous laugh, throwing an arm around the other man's shoulders. Sayre shook her head at the strangeness of it all. She had heard some of the other men speak of Loghain, that he was a hard man, a stern man with little sense of humor, but he had been one of the first to show her any kindness upon her arrival in Ostagar. His words their first meeting played through her mind.

_Don't let anyone tell you that you don't belong. The first Warden Maric brought to Ferelden was a woman. Best warrior I've ever seen._

Still, what he had saved her from left Sayre feeling shaken, and she stood up. No one was really paying her any attention, but it was reflex that made her stick to the shadows as she moved, habit that drove her to keep anyone from seeing her leave the area. Once she made it away from the camp, she skirted along the outside of the area until she made her way to the bridge overlooking the field of battle. Torches burned along the bridge, and the moon was out, but the darkness was still almost overwhelming after the light from all the fires back in camp. Sayre walked to the edge of the bridge to look down on the field below. There appeared to be lights down there as well, and they seemed to be moving. She blinked her eyes a few times, not sure if they were playing tricks on her. However, she had little time to think about it as her attention was caught by a sound coming from behind her. She turned in time to see the figure approaching.

"Hello, Sayre."

…

…

…

Alistair sat by one of the many fires in the camp, but he was still away from the others. He was pouting, he knew, but he felt he had the right to feel a little sullen. Cailan had purposely kept him from the battle, and for what? They had both been in Ostagar for a while, and the king had never treated him any differently from any of the other Wardens, really only ever speaking to him when absolutely necessary. Sure, there was no bond of brotherhood between the two men, and if the king wanted to pretend they weren't related, that was fine with him. Alistair preferred that no one knew he was King Maric's bastard. Still, there was no reason for Cailan to treat him like a child, one incapable of holding his own sword. Had he been worried that Alistair might receive some sort of notice, some sort of recognition? Cailan couldn't have that, now could he?

Alistair had lived a hard life, and he'd always felt at least a little bitter about the life his brother had gotten to have, the life denied to him. It wasn't the crown or the title or anything like that which he wished for himself. Alistair envied the fact that Cailan had gotten to know their father, had been raised by people who cared about him, while Alistair had been shipped off to the Chantry. While he was grateful for his templar training, which was the only reason Duncan had taken notice of him at all, he couldn't help but wonder if his own recruitment into the Grey Wardens was why the king seemed to show a sudden interest in the order. Could he not allow his bastard brother even a small semblance of happiness without having to trod upon it?

Alistair had actually been watching Cailan all evening, after everyone had returned from the battlefields. The king, being his usual, gregarious self, had made his way around the camp, laughing and joking with the other Wardens, probably congratulating them all on some heroic feat accomplished while Alistair had been stuck atop a tower, the place Cailan had decreed he must be because, apparently the king thought him too stupid to be able to manage to light a fire by himself. There had been no need to congratulate Alistair, so Calian hadn't spoken to him at all. And he had almost convinced himself he didn't care... until he saw the king approach Sayre.

Sayre had been in the tower with him, had also done nothing deserving of any sort of accolade, yet there Cailan was, sitting at her side, offering her wine. Alistair picked up a handful of pebbles and threw them into the fire. He would have liked to have thrown them at the king, but he was not _entirely _stupid. But then Sayre looked his way, as if she knew he was looking at them, and he scowled. Were they talking about him? Was Cailan laughing at him, telling the newest Grey Warden recruit about his fool of a half-brother? Alistair pulled his eyes away from them. If Cailan was going to befriend everyone but him, he didn't want to have to watch it. But he could only look away for so long before curiosity got the better of him, and Alistair once again glanced in their direction.

Loghain was standing there as well. Alistair had never been too terribly fond of the teyrn, as few people were, but he'd always enjoyed the way the man could set Cailan in his place like no one else could. Alistair wondered what he had missed as he watched the interactions among the three of them. Loghain had his arms crossed over his chest, and he didn't look happy. Cailan actually looked a little sulky, and Sayre... she almost looked frightened. With a frown, Alistair recalled the way she'd acted when they'd gone out into the Wilds with Daveth and Ser Jory.

She was a strange woman. When they first started out, he'd been worried for her safety. It was not because she was a woman, or because she was an elf... or at least not _just _because of that. Sayre had seemed scared almost, like she was unsure of herself and unsure of the rest of them. That uncertainty could be dangerous in a fight. One had to be able to trust the others in his party to watch his back, and if she didn't act like she trusted any of them, it could lead to her doing something she shouldn't, something that might get herself hurt. She had seemed to take an instant dislike to Daveth, though Ser Jory she hadn't minded too much. And strangely, Sayre had seemed to be a little more comfortable with him after they'd had a short conversation of his templar training. He would have almost wondered if she'd had some bad experience with a mage at some point in her life, but she'd been comfortable enough around the swamp witch.

But when they fought for the first time, he realized his worries had been unfounded. Though small, Sayre could handle herself in a fight. She was skilled with a bow, but she hadn't been afraid to meet a foe head on, either. Of course, it was silly to have doubted her skill. Duncan had recruited her, and Duncan only chose the best. That thought put a small smile on Alistair's face.

With a start, Alistair saw that his thoughts had distracted him from whatever had been going on between Sayre, Cailan, and Loghain. The king and the teyrn were walking away from her, and the woman actually looked a little relieved. Then he watched her rise and move away from the camp, and she almost seemed to disappear. Sayre was certainly light on her feet. When they'd been in the Wilds together, he never heard her move. She even managed to draw her weapons without making a sound, but this was something different. Sayre seemed to blend into the shadows, and he was only able to follow her movement because he caught the light from the fires reflecting off of her armor a few times. He lost her for a minute, but then he saw her again, off in the distance near the large stone bridge they had crossed to get to the Tower of Ishal.

Alistair couldn't begrudge her the desire to be away from the others. It had to be overwhelming to someone so new to the order. Yet for some reason, Alistair found himself rising to his feet. He felt the need to speak to _someone _that night, and she would be the only person who might possibly understand how he was feeling. He'd have gone to Duncan, but the man had already retired to his tent, clearly displeased with the behavior of the others but unwilling to stop them from their revelry. Glancing around, Alistair saw that no one was paying him any attention. Why should they be? With a shrug of his shoulder, he set off in the direction Sayre had gone.

He found her peering over the side of the bridge, and just the sight of it made him feel a little queasy. Alistair had no problems with heights, not really, but it was a _long _way down. Apparently he did not have her skill at moving silently, and she turned to face him as he approached. "Hello, Sayre," he said.

"Alistair," she said with a nod. He couldn't help but notice that she took a step away from him. The image came to his mind of a skittish little mouse. He wondered if she saw them all as cats, ready to take a swipe at her. That was how she acted sometimes. "What are you doing here?" She asked.

Alistair gave her a smile, but that only seemed to unsettle her more. He shrugged a shoulder. "I saw you get up and leave. I thought maybe you knew of a better party going on over on the other side of the bridge and figured I'd follow."

Sayre frowned at him. "Your brothers, nearly half of our men, lay dead on the ground below, and you think it a time for jokes?"

With another shrug, Alistair said, "As much a time for jokes as it is a time for celebration."

Sayre turned away, her attention back on the fields below. "Both equally inappropriate, yes," she said. Alistair moved to stand at her side. Not too close, though, as he'd previously noticed her aversion to anyone invading her personal space. "Why are you _really _here?" She asked, the accusation clear in her voice.

"Why are you?" He asked, avoiding the question.

"As much as I enjoy being surrounded by drunk humans..." she muttered under her breath.

"Which bothers you more?" Alistair asked.

Sayre frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"Are you bothered more that they're drunk, or that they're human?" Alistair clarified.

"It's often a bad combination," she shot back, and Alistair had to smile.

"Oh, I couldn't agree more," he said cheerfully. "That's why I don't drink. You know, since I've already got the human thing working against me, and there's not much I can do about _that_."

Sayre gave him the smallest ghost of a smile, and Alistair wondered if it was the first time he'd seen the expression on her face. "A wise choice," she responded.

"So... what were you and the king talking about?" Alistair asked, unable to help himself, but he immediately saw that he'd made a mistake with the question. Sayre's shoulders seemed to hunch, as if she was drawing in on herself, and any bit of a smile disappeared from her face. "I'm sorry," Alistair said hurriedly. "It's none of my business."

"No, it's not," she agreed.

Alistair shifted uncomfortably next to her as the silence between them stretched. He began to wonder why he'd even followed after her. In the brief time he'd spent with her, she'd never struck him as an overly friendly person. She wasn't mean or cruel, but not very outgoing, either. Maybe he was just trying to help her, trying to be her friend because he knew what it was like to be alone. And maybe he had gone simply because Cailan had shown her attention when he'd had none to give his own brother. That was a hard thing to admit to himself, even were it true. With a sigh, Alistair turned to go, to return to camp, when something from below caught his eye.

"What is that?" He asked, the uneasiness over the heights being pushed away as he peered down. "Are those lights?"

Sayre nodded. "It looks like it. They look like torches."

"Darkspawn?" Alistair whispered.

Sayre wrinkled her eyebrows at him. "I know I'm new to this whole thing, so I haven't quite figured out how it all works, but... wouldn't you be able to sense them, if that's what they were?"

"What? Oh... right. So not darkspawn," Alistair said, giving her a sheepish smile.

"No," she said, turning her attention again to the battlefield. "I think it's some of our men down there, moving the bodies to help get ready for the pyres in the morning. Perhaps we're not the only ones who find the celebration in questionable taste." She glanced at him. "I think I'm going to go down there, see if I can help."

Alistair nodded. "I'll go with you," he said. "We can both help." When she gave him a look, he held up his hands. "Hey, I mean no offense. I'm not questioning your strength or abilities. But Maker, all of those men in full armor probably weigh at least three times what you do, if not more. Even I... I mean... either of us alone would have trouble moving them, but if we work together..."

She looked at him a moment longer before nodding. "Fine. Let's go."

As Alistair followed her down to the ground below, he almost had to smile. He might spend hours down there, forgoing sleep so that he could spend the evening hauling bodies in a field littered with dead darkspawn, performing the act with a sullen elf who didn't seem to like him much. Still, it was better than being in Cailan's presence, so he figured, in the end, he came out ahead.


	2. Chapter 2

The smoke from all of the pyres stung Cailan's eyes and made his head hurt worse than it already did. The smell was overwhelming, and he breathed shallowly through his mouth in the hopes of keeping the contents of his stomach where they belonged. In his stomach. There were a number of men who had already lost that battle, and the king couldn't help but wonder if perhaps drinking so heavily the night before had been such a good idea. Especially as he looked out over the field to see just how many men they had lost. He could see Loghain, who was standing at his side, frowning as he made the same calculations. They had lost at least half their men. Perhaps their victory was not quite so glorious as he had hoped.

So Cailan stood there, resplendent in his freshly polished armor, so that the others might see their king. He knew that his men, along with the Grey Wardens, would take comfort in the fact that he was still alive. However, for once, he could have hoped that his armor was not so clean. The men around him still stood in armor dirty from battle, metal and leathers still soiled from the blood of their friends and foes. In fact, Cailan noticed with a small frown, even Alistair's armor appeared soiled, and the man had done nothing the day before. But then his eyes slid from Alistair to someone much more worthy of his notice. The elven girl... what was her name? Not Sara, though it was something like that. Her armor was dirty, too, and it hadn't been the night before. He had spent plenty of time watching her to be sure of that.

There was just something about elven women, he thought as the men around him droned on about the dead. Something about their small, tight little bodies that made him feel big, and powerful, and strong. She was not the prettiest elf he'd ever seen, but she was pretty enough, especially in a camp filled with men. Of course, all elves seemed to be pretty enough, when it came down to it. Even many of their men were prettier than some of the horse-faced noblewomen of Ferelden. No, with elves, one was able to enjoy all of the pleasures of being with a beautiful woman without any of the attitudes that normally came with beautiful human women.

Take his wife, for instance. Anora was lovely enough to look at, but rather on the frigid side when it came to actual human interaction. He knew that there was gossip going around that she was barren, due to the fact that they'd been married for five years now, and she still hadn't produced an heir. Cailan certainly did nothing to try to dispel the rumor, but he doubted that was the reason they hadn't had a child yet. The truth was that after their first year, they rarely shared a bed. It just took too much effort. Why should he have to try so hard to get into his own wife's bed when there were so many other women more than willing to let him share theirs? He knew he was desirable to women, even without the crown on his head, and Cailan felt there was no reason why he should ever have to sleep alone if he didn't want to. Anora may not like it, but king or no, he had needs, and if she wasn't going to help meet them, he would find someone who would. At least he'd created no bastards that he knew of, which was more than could be said for his father.

That thought brought Cailan's attention back to Alistair. He was never sure what to think about the man who was technically his brother. The family resemblance was there, which was one of the reasons Cailan made sure he spent as little time with him as possible. As far as he knew, there were only four people in the whole camp who knew the two of them were related, and he wanted to keep it that way. For one, as strange as the idea seemed to him, Alistair was probably the closest thing Cailan had to an heir. He told himself that was the reason he'd kept him from the fighting the day before. After all, were Cailan to fall, who would be the next king? Whatever poor sod Anora found for a new husband? Cailan didn't think so. Alistair might be a bastard, but at least there was still Theirin blood in his veins.

Another reason he tried to stay away from Alistair was because he didn't want the man feeling like he had to try and live up to Cailan's example. He was sure Alistair already felt inferior, but if they had to stand side by side, it would probably just make him feel worse. He admired the fact that Alistair had joined the Grey Wardens, and he knew it was his way of trying to find glory for himself, and maybe if he wasn't related to a king, that would be enough for him. But no matter what sort of life Alistair made for himself, Cailan knew it would never be enough for him if he felt like he was always standing in his older brother's shadow. After all, he knew what it was like to live in the shadows cast by his father, Maric the Savior, and his father-in-law, the Hero of the River Dane. So he stayed away.

When everyone who had wanted to speak over the dead had spoken, people began drifting away from the pyres, back up to the camp. Cailan itched to be away from the smoke and the smell, but he waited. He didn't have to be the last one to leave, but he knew he couldn't be the first. Loghain didn't seem to have that same compunction over leaving too early, and he stalked off as soon as he was able. He didn't appear to be in a very good mood, but that was Loghain. Cailan figured his heart would probably stop from the shock, the day he ever saw the man smile. When he figured he'd waited long enough, Cailan finally left the field to go back to camp.

He heard the raised voices before he saw the two men who were arguing, and he sighed as he made his way over to them. Loghain and Duncan stood glaring at each other, their words cutting off as they saw Cailan approaching. "What's going on here?" He asked as he stepped up next to them.

"I was just telling the _Commander _here that we will be taking our men and leaving," Loghain said, his face red with anger. "Everything we have done here has been a _waste_, of time and lives. We've lost more than half our men, and for what?" He scowled, turning on Cailan. "Do you now see what stroking your own vanity has caused us? You wanted glory, but instead all we have is a field full of bodies."

Cailan prickled at being spoken to so, especially in front of Duncan. "Now, hold there, Loghain. It is still my decision whether we stay or go. And yes, there were casualties, but there always are in war. We achieved a great victory yesterday, and..."

Loghain snorted. "A victory," he scoffed. "I doubt you even know the meaning of that word."

"Perhaps I will leave the two of you to..." Duncan began.

"No, stay," Cailan ordered. "I value your advice, Duncan, and would hear what you have to say."

"Yes, tell the king what a _great victory _we've achieved," Loghain sneered.

"Our losses yesterday were many, it's true," Duncan said carefully. "Much greater than we had expected, but I fear the worst is still yet to come. When the Archdemon appears, the darkspawn forces will..."

"This is no Blight," Loghain cut in, his face growing even redder. "There is no Archdemon. I think we would have noticed if there were. Maybe the darkspawn have just figured out that all of Ferelden's Grey Wardens, along with her _king_, are just sitting here, waiting to be slaughtered, and they figured they'd come and take you up on the offer. I, for one, do not intend to let them have another chance at finishing what they started yesterday."

"But all is not lost," Cailan cut in, a thought coming to him. "Teyrn Cousland's men should be on their way. It's too bad they couldn't have made it sooner, but..."

"Yes, I'm sure they will be very disappointed they missed the bloodbath. If you would excuse me." Loghain turned on his heel and stalked off, not waiting to be dismissed.

Cailan scowled as the teyrn walked away. He often wondered how his father had ever managed to put up with the man. He knew why _he _put up with him, though he was loathe to admit it, even to himself. He knew that if he ever managed to impress Loghain, he would be taking at least a small step in living up to the legacy Maric had left. What Cailan couldn't understand, though, was why all of the things he did that should have been impressive just seemed to anger Loghain. But he would worry about that later. He turned to Duncan, as if to distract him from the scene he just witnessed.

"It _is _strange that Cousland's men aren't here yet, is it not?" He asked. "They should have been by now. Come to think of it..." He frowned. "His eldest made it here a few days ago, and his father was supposed to be right behind him." He glanced around the camp. "In fact, Fergus should have been back from his scouting mission as well." He shook his head. If Fergus and his men didn't return by the end of the day, he would likely have to send men out after them, to see what the problem was. His greater worry, though, was the absence of the elder Cousland. "You've just recently come from Denerim," he said to Duncan. "Did you hear any news? They should have been passing that way on their way here."

"Uh, no, Your Majesty," Duncan answered. "Though there is some other news from Denerim that you probably need to hear. It involves Sayre and the fact that I had to use the Right of Conscription on her."

_Sayre_. That was her name. Well, he'd been close. But why should he care how she had ended up in the Grey Wardens? "Well, that's... within your right still," he said.

"Of course, but I used it to save her from the hangman's noose," Duncan said, and Cailan's ears perked at that. So she was a naughty little elf, then. He wondered what her crime was. Probably theft, or... "She killed Bann Vaughan," Duncan said, and Cailan gaped.

"She... what?" Cailan glanced over his shoulder, as if to search for her among the people who had returned from the field, but he didn't see her.

"Seems the bann and his men tried to... take some liberties with Sayre and her friends. On the day of her wedding, no less. She killed the bann and his men in her escape from his estate," Duncan explained. "I imagine there will be quite a lot of unrest, both within the alienage and without, because of it."

Cailan nodded. "Yes, I am sure. Perhaps I should speak with Sayre, then. Find out exactly what happened."

"I have just told you what happened," Duncan said flatly. "I'm sure the topic holds no small amount of pain for her, and I doubt she wishes to go into details about..."

"Yes, yes," Cailan said with a wave of his hand. "I just..." His mind searched for something. "If this is what the nobles are up to, I should hear of it, should I not? I should know if this is a common occurrence." Duncan gave him a disapproving look, but Cailan brushed it off. He got enough of that from Loghain. "As you were," he said dismissively before going to find a page to summon Sayre to his tent. Did he feel guilty that he was going to use this news as an excuse to get her alone? Maybe a little, but not enough to keep from doing it.

…

…

…

Loghain slammed his fist into the palm of his hand, wishing he had something more satisfying to hit. He'd been heading toward his own tent but turned abruptly to go find Ser Cauthrien. She was sitting, leaning against a tree, and she jerked when he approached, as if he'd awakened her. "Were you sleeping?" He barked, the disgust clear in his voice. Surely _she _had not been one of the fools awake late into the night, celebrating the deaths of half their army.

"I... yes. Forgive me," she said, coming to her feet.

Loghain shook his head. "I expected better from you, Lieutenant."

Cauthrien rushed to explain. "It was not because I was up drinking, Your Grace. Some of the other men and I went down to the fields, to prepare the bodies for the pyres." Her voice sounded a little sullen as she crossed her arms, looking over in the direction from which Loghain had just come. "Those men were our friends, our men in arms. It wasn't right to just let them lie among the darkspawn dead."

Giving her an appraising look, Loghain gave a grunt of approval. "And were any of the fabled _Grey Wardens_ out there as well?" He sneered.

"Only two," Cauthrien responded. "The two who were sent to the tower to light the signal fire. When they showed up, I thought perhaps they had just come to gawk at the field of battle, but they actually helped all night with the rest of us." The two who were sent to the tower... so the elven girl Cailan seemed so taken with and the bastard. Loghain would not have thought it of either of them. "Was there something you needed of me?" She asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

"No," he said curtly. "Get some rest. You're no good to me if you're exhausted."

Loghain turned and walked away, not waiting for a response. He had planned on ordering her to ready the men to march on the morrow, but it was clear she needed to sleep. If he even so much as mentioned his plans to her, she would be up all day seeing to it, and he wanted her to sleep. Any other time he would have just made her deal with her weariness, but he knew the deaths of so many of their men had been hard on her. She'd been closer to the men than he'd ever been. He'd always had a bit of a soft spot for Cauthrien, though he'd never admit it to anyone.

As he walked back to his tent, Loghain cursed himself. The deaths were as much his fault as Cailan's or Duncan's. As he had stood there, waiting for the signal to appear at the top of the tower, he had considered pulling his men out. In fact, had it taken longer before the fire appeared, he might have had enough time to truly consider the consequences of following Cailan's plans and ordered a retreat. But he hadn't. He'd allowed his men to go to their deaths by following a foolish plan made by a foolish boy. He did not wish death upon his king, though sometimes he wondered even about that, if Cailan was doing the things he suspected him of, but Loghain wondered if perhaps it would have been better for Ferelden had he and his men left Cailan and the Grey Wardens to die on the field. But there was little use thinking of such things. The decision had been made, and Loghain would have to live with it, no matter how much it galled him.

As Loghain headed back to his tent, he saw one of Cailan's pages leaving the king's tent, heading towards the area used by the Grey Wardens. Other than Duncan, Cailan rarely spoke to any of the Wardens except in passing, and Loghain frowned, wondering what the man was up to. He ordered one of the men standing guard outside his own tent to let him know when the page returned, and then he went inside. It was only a short time later when his man signaled him, and Loghain stepped outside in time to see the page returning, followed by a rather terrified-looking Sayre. Loghain fumed. If he was trying to sneak the girl into his tent, he was doing a very poor job of it, considering he'd sent a page, and it was the middle of the day. But by the look on the girl's face, she was not privy to whatever the king had in store for her.

Loghain crossed the distance that separated his tent from the king's. "What's going on here?" He demanded. The page shrank from his gaze, from the tone of his voice, but the elf actually seemed glad to see him. That was odd. It was not the sort of effect he had on people.

"I don't know, my lord," the girl said, her voice weary. "I see no reason why I should be summoned by the king... to his tent..." She wrapped her arms around her middle.

"Nor do I," Loghain muttered under his breath.

Cailan must have heard their voices, as he poked his head out of his tent. "Ah, there you are." He eyed the teyrn. "Loghain," he said. "Was there something further you needed?" Loghain just looked at him. Silence usually worked better on Cailan than demands, and sure enough, after a moment, the king began offering an explanation. "I need to speak to Sayre about something that happened in Denerim, the reason why she's here, apparently. Seems what happened may have repercussions that I will have to deal with once I return." He turned to Sayre. "Come in."

The girl didn't move forward. If anything, she actually took a step or two back, and the look on her face made Loghain think of a frightened rabbit. "I'm not sure that's appropriate, Your Majesty," she protested, a tremble in her voice.

"Nonsense," said Cailan, either oblivious of her apparent fear, or he just didn't care. Loghain guessed the latter. "Or do you expect me to stand out in the cold?"

"I... I..." Sayre stammered.

"The king is right," Loghain said, and the girl winced. "Let's go inside out of the cold."

Loghain watched Cailan's jaw tense when he realized the teyrn planned on accompanying them inside, but a wave of relief seemed to pass over Sayre's face. Loghain wondered what her story was. It was common for elves to feel uncomfortable around nobles, but if it was just nervousness about being around the king, having Loghain there should make her even less at ease, not more. Perhaps she, like Loghain, did not trust that Cailan's reasons for wanting her in his tent were exactly what he made them out to be. What was it with Theirin men and elven women? Loghain had never understood the draw. It seemed to him that it had to take a very small man, to want such a small woman, a man who needed a tiny partner to help compensate for his own feelings of weakness and inadequacy.

The three of them went into the tent. Cailan immediately went to sit in the only chair, and Loghain moved to stand near him, though not right at his side. Sayre entered the tent last and stayed next to the opening, clutching her hands in front of her. Loghain wondered if this frightened creature was indicative of the best the Grey Wardens could find in Ferelden. If so, it was no wonder they had lost so many people the day before. The girl kept her eyes on the ground, the position all elves seemed to instinctively assume when standing before humans. Loghain turned his attention to Cailan, who seemed to be eyeing the girl in a way Loghain didn't like at all.

"Tell me what happened with the bann," Cailan said.

Taking a breath, Sayre lifted her head to speak. "Vaughan treats the alienage as his own personal whorehouse," she said, her voice stronger than Loghain had previously heard it to be. "He and his men come in, pick out the girls they wants, and drag them back to his estate."

"Against their will?" Cailan asked, and Loghain frowned. Such events were not uncommon.

"Sometimes," Sayre said. "Sometimes the girls are willing. Sometimes they pretend to be because they're afraid of what will happen to them and their families if they refuse. And sometimes they _do _refuse, and they're taken anyway."

"And that's what happened to you?" Cailan asked.

Loghain watched a strange transformation in the elven girl. At Cailan's question, her eyes dropped back to the ground, her head turned away from them both as if her short hair could hide her face. Something seemed to pass through her, and then she rolled her shoulders back, bringing her head back up to look at them both. Her eyes, which before had seemed so frightened, were cold and hard, like ice and steel. "It is," she said to Cailan.

The king gestured to her with a hand to continue. "It was supposed to be my wedding day," she explained. "Vaughan and his men interrupted the ceremony and took me, the other bride, and all of the bridesmaids by force. They killed one of the bridesmaids in front of the rest of us, all because she tried to resist their advances. Another, my cousin, was raped. The same would have happened to the rest of us if..." Sayre paused ever so slightly. "Had I not managed to get my hands on a sword."

"And you somehow managed to cut your way through all of the bann's guards, get to him, kill him, and then still make it out alive? And with your friends, presumably?" Cailan asked, slightly incredulous.

"That I stand before you now should be proof enough," Sayre said in answer.

"You had no help in your escape?" Cailan pressed.

Sayre's eyes seemed to narrow. Loghain just stood back and watched. She was a frightened rabbit no longer. "You would have me give you a name, so that when you return to Denerim you may seek out another to punish for the death of the bann? It was my hand that slew him, not anyone else's."

"So you _weren't _alone then," Cailan continued, and Loghain wondered what his aim was. Because she had been conscripted into the Grey Wardens, she could not be punished for her crime. Besides, considering what he remembered of Vaughan, the man was an ass and had probably actually done everything she had accused him of. Not that his deeds warranted his death, though.

"No, I was not," Sayre confirmed. "My betrothed, Nelaros, came looking for me. For us. But you needn't bother yourself with trying to find him. He's dead." The words were spoken with no change of emotion on the girl's face, just the same icy hardness. Loghain had to wonder if she would have responded in the same way had he not been there. He was not sure what to think about the idea that his presence made her bolder, which he could respect, but that it also made her almost disrespectful. She hadn't used a proper title for anyone since entering the tent.

But rather than set her in her place, Cailan gave her a sympathetic look. "I assure you, the matter will be looked into once I return to Denerim. I have little exposure to what goes on in the alienage, but I had no idea things had gotten so bad."

The look that passed over her face showed that Sayre doubted his words as much as Loghain did. In fact, the only assurance Loghain took from Cailan's pretty little speech was that he was definitely trying to bed the girl. Loghain clenched his hands into fists. King or not, the man had no shame, to be so brazen in front of his wife's own father. However, considering the tale the girl had just told, it seemed very unlikely that she would willingly go his bed, at least not any time soon. At least as long as she was able to withstand the man's... charms. Anora certainly seemed incapable of doing so, and she continued to proclaim she still loved her husband, despite his past infidelities.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Sayre said, her tone formal, and her eyes quickly glanced toward the opening flap of the tent.

"That will be all, then," Loghain said dismissively, and Sayre scurried out the tent without waiting for Cailan to excuse her. The king scowled at him once the girl was gone, but he made no protest at Loghain overstepping his bounds. That seemed to be even further proof that his reasons for wanting Sayre there were less than noble. "So what do you intend to do with this information?" Loghain asked.

Cailan sighed, slumping down in his chair. "I don't know. The Arl will be none too pleased to find out about his son's death. Which... I'm sure he already knows about by now. He will demand some sort of restitution, and I fear I will return to Denerim to find a battle being waged in the alienage."

"The least of our problems," Loghain said with a wave of his hand. "Though once you return to Denerim, I..."

His words were cut off by a commotion outside. One of Cailan's personal guards pulled the flap back ever so slightly. "Forgive the intrusion, Your Majesty, but there's a messanger for you. Says it's urgent."

"Let him in," Cailan ordered.

The boy couldn't have been twenty. He was filthy and obviously exhausted, and it was clear he had been traveling hard for days. At a gesture from the king, he gave his message. "There is news, through Denerim, of Highever, Your Majesty." Cailan straightened at that, waving him on. "Seems all the Couslands are dead, killed by Arl Howe's men. They attacked Highever, and they're claiming there were no survivors. The Arl is now proclaiming himself to be teyrn of Highever."

"What?" Cailan shouted, coming to his feet. The messenger shied back. The king took a few angry steps away from his chair, then turned back to the boy standing in front of them. "When did this happen?"

"I... I don't know, Your Majesty..." The boy stammered.

"Leave us," Cailan commanded, and the messager was all to happy to comply. "It must have been right after Fergus left Highever," Cailan said to Loghain. Loghain said nothing, just watching him as he paced about the tent. "And Fergus still hasn't returned to camp," Cailan continued. "We must find him. No matter what Howe's reasoning might have been for doing what he did, it will need to be brought before a Landsmeet. As the only remaining Cousland, Fergus must be there." Loghain just looked at him. He cared little about the Couslands. "I would charge you with the task of finding him, Loghain," Cailan said.

"Me?" Loghain barked. "I think not. I've told you already, I'm taking the men and leaving this place."

"It is not a request," Cailan said, coming to stand in front of him.

The two men stared at each other for a long while. Loghain could feel his anger rising, but unless he was going to commit to assaulting the man, he would have to back down. Cailan was still the king, and until Loghain could prove the things he'd suspected Cailan of doing, he would occasionally have to do his bidding. "As you command, Your Majesty," Loghain said, giving the king a low, mocking bow. "I will go assemble a party immediately." He had almost made it out of the tent when he turned back. "So you don't get any ideas while I'm gone, I'll be taking the girl with me," he said.

"I'm afraid I don't know _what _you're talking about," Cailan sputtered.

"Yes," Loghain agreed. "I'm sure that is often the case."


	3. Chapter 3

Alistair had been pacing for a while, making a short circuit around the campgrounds, much to the irritation of the other Grey Wardens nearby. He was trying to muster his courage, but it was proving to be more difficult than he would have expected. Many of the other Wardens had already told him to sit down, that he was making them nervous, but Alistair was having trouble keeping still. If only he could figure out the words he wanted to say, he would feel calmer. Maybe. Of course, then he would actually have to approach the man and say them.

The day the pyres had been set was spent resting by most of the people in camp, Grey Wardens as well as the king's men. For that, Alistair had been grateful. While he had little pity for the men who were hungover, he'd spent most of the night hauling bodies and removing armor, and he'd fallen asleep as soon as he stumbled into his tent. He was up early the next morning, only to find the camp bustling with activity. When he asked, he found out that there had been a message from Denerim, something about the Cousland family in Highever, and that the king was making Loghain take a group of people to go find the teyrn's son. No one seemed to know what the news was, but apparently finding Fergus Cousland was very important to the king.

He might have thought nothing of it, until he heard who Loghain was taking with him. It was mostly his own men, which surprised no one as he seemed to have no great love for the Grey Wardens. He was taking his Lieutenant, as well as three of his other soldiers, but then, he was also apparently taking Sayre. That was something no one could understand. While it made sense to take a Warden along with him, Loghain had to realize that Sayre was too new to have gained all of the benefits that came along with being a member of the order. Not only was she unable to sense darkspawn yet, but she was also basically untried. Besides Duncan, Alistair knew he was really the only other person who had seen her fight before, and while she was skilled, there were definitely other Wardens who would be better in a fight, who would also be able to sense darkspawn. It made no sense why Loghain would choose her.

There had to be something special about Sayre that he didn't know about, or at least that's what Alistair kept telling himself. He'd been the newest member of the Grey Wardens for the past few months, and no one had shown him even a small fraction of the amount of attention they were heaping on Sayre, and she'd been a Warden for less than a week. It didn't make sense why she was being singled out, getting private audiences with the king and being selected for special missions by the teyrn. Alistair knew he was being petty about it. None of the other Wardens seemed to care quite as much as he did. In fact, most of them seemed happy _not_ to have been chosen to go along with Loghain. The idea of spending a week or more out in the Wilds with the man didn't appeal to many people, but that wasn't really the point. The point was that he was once more being passed over. He might have been able to understand why anyone else was chosen over him, but not Sayre.

Taking a deep breath, Alistair steeled himself and walked over to where Loghain was speaking with his Lieutenant. He'd never really spoken to Cauthrien before, but she had always struck him as a woman who thought quite highly of herself, and as she noticed him approaching, she gave him an amused look. She had to know he wished to speak to Loghain, but she made no move to leave them. Loghain turned to look at him only a moment after Cauthrien did, eyebrows raised.

"What is it?" Loghain demanded. "I'm very busy right now, if you haven't noticed."

"Uh, yes. Forgive my, my lord. Uh... Your Grace." Alistair glanced at Cauthrien again, who was now openly smirking at him. "I had hoped I might speak with you."

Loghain made an impatient gesture with his hand. "You are speaking to me now, though I can see that perhaps you didn't notice this fact. Well? Get on with it or leave me in peace."

Alistair did his best not to scowl. Obviously Cauthrien wasn't going to give them any privacy at all, and Loghain wasn't going to ask her to leave. Fine. "I was... well... that is... I was hoping I might accompany you on your journey, to find the teyrn's son."

"Why?" Loghain asked.

The bluntness of the question startled Alistair a little, but he did his best not to show his agitation. "I... well, I think you could use a Grey Warden in your party who..."

"I have a Grey Warden," Loghain said, arms crossed over his chest.

"Yes, but..." Alistair scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Sayre is... still new to the order. She hasn't fully developed her ability to sense darkspawn, and you might need someone who can, depending on how far out into the Wilds you have to go. I..."

"Why would I want you?" Loghain asked, peering at him.

Alistair tried not to wince. "Well, besides being able to sense darkspawn, I have been out in the Wilds before, so I know a little of the terrain, and I have some tracking abilities, from my training with the templars."

Loghain just frowned at him. After a moment, he asked, "What is your aim here?"

"My... aim? Well, to find the teyrn's son, I suppose," Alistair answered hesitantly.

"No," Loghain said, shaking his head. He spoke slowly, as if speaking to a child. "I am well aware what the purpose of this expedition is. I want to know why _you _wish to go."

"Oh," Alistair said, trying his hardest not to look at Cauthrien. The woman seemed much too amused by the whole conversation. "Well, I guess I just... want to feel useful. I feel like there's a lot of just sitting around going on right now, and if there's a chance to be out doing something, I'd like to be a part of it, if I can."

Then Loghain did the thing Alistair had been most hoping he wouldn't. He turned his head to look in the direction of Cailan's tent. If Loghain was going to ask the king's opinion on the matter, Alistair knew he might as well just turn around and go back to his own tent. But strangely enough, the teyrn turned to face him again, not taking a step in Cailan's direction. In fact, he almost seemed amused as well, though in not quite the same way as Cauthrien. "Very well," he said, giving him a dismissive wave of his hand. "But we leave in an hour. If you're not ready when it's time to go, you'll be left behind."

"Yes, ser," Alistair said, trying not to sound overly enthusiastic. "Thank you, ser." He hurried off to go pack his things before Loghain could change his mind, before Cauthrien could try to talk him out of letting Alistair go along, which he was sure she would try to do once he left.

As he was tearing down his tent and getting his things together, Alistair wondered if maybe he should have talked to Duncan first to get his permission. It was too late for that now, though, and he pushed it from his mind. After all, it was well known that Sayre was going along, and no one seemed to have an objection to that... other than him, of course. Alistair sighed, chiding himself for the way he was acting. It likely wasn't Sayre's fault she was getting all the attention that she was. He had just hoped that the new recruits, whoever made it through the Joining, might be someone who would possibly look up to him, ask him for advice. It seemed almost childish that he had been hoping for that. Sayre didn't need his advice or his friendship, and that was fine. But he wasn't going to just sit aside if there were things he could be doing. Especially if those things got him away from Cailan.

He had little in the way of possessions, little that he needed to take with him, so he was ready in plenty of time. His pack slung over his shoulder, adjusted just so that his sword was still accessible, he made his way over to Loghain. As he made the short trip across the camp, he saw Duncan. Knowing he still had plenty of time before the group was going to leave, he went over to him.

"Going somewhere?" Duncan asked, eying his pack.

"I'm going with Loghain," he told him. "To go search for Teyrn Cousland's son."

Duncan frowned. "I thought he was only taking Sayre with him."

Alistair's shoulders slumped a little. "He was, but... I asked if I could go with him. I figured they might need a Grey Warden who could sense darkspawn with them." He did his best not to sound too defensive.

Duncan's eyes seemed to tighten a little, but he nodded. "Quite so," he agreed. "I'm glad you were able to convince him where I was not." That surprised Alistair. Had Duncan pushed for Loghain to take another Warden with him? But before he could ask, Duncan clapped him on the shoulder. "I know you'll be careful while you're out there. Make sure the others are careful as well." He paused a moment before adding, "Maker watch over you, my boy."

Alistair gave him a grateful smile before hurrying over to where the others were already starting to gather. Sayre was there, standing apart from the others. Alistair was struck by how small she looked compared to the others, almost like a child trying to play with the adults. As soon as that thought came to him, Sayre turned her head to look at him, and Alistair looked away. It was silly, to think that somehow she might be able to read his mind, but he couldn't look at her.

"I didn't know you were coming along, too," she said, and Alistair looked over to see her standing right next to him. Even with her pack and everything she was carrying, she had still managed to move silently.

He gave her a smile, which seemed to unsettle her as it always did. He had to wonder about the life she'd lived before becoming a Grey Warden, that she never seemed to smile, never seemed to like people to smile at her. She was definitely strange. "Well, I couldn't let you have all the fun," Alistair said.

Sayre cocked her head to one side. "You're a strange man," she said, and Alistair had to laugh, considering he'd just thought the same thing about her. The laughter only seemed to startle her more. "Do you find it amusing that I find you strange?" She asked.

"I think I do," he said, still smiling at her, and Sayre just shook her head at him. "You don't really do the whole _sense of humor _thing, do you?" He asked.

Strangely enough, that question actually got a smile out of her. "That's what Soris... my cousin always used to tell me," she said.

It was the first time she'd talked about anything personal, and Alistair was about to ask her about her cousin, but Loghain came up to the group, clapping his hands together. "Let's go," he barked, and then he turned and began leading his way out of the camp. So much for a rousing speech to set them on their way. He hoisted his pack more solidly on his shoulders and followed after the others. Sayre walked at his side, near the rear of the group, as they set off.

The first day was spent traveling, but at a much slower pace than Alistair might have expected. Loghain and one of his men spent a lot of time staring at the ground. Alistair had tried to go forward, to offer his help, but he was quickly waved away. He ignored the smirk on Cauthrien's face as he went back to his place at the rear of the group. Apparently he was only along to provide warning if they happened on a stray group of darkspawn, he thought glumly to himself. So much for being useful.

They stopped and made camp early, as no one wanted to search for tracks in the darkening light as the sun began to set. Once the tents were set up and the food was made, everyone in the party seemed to separate into three distinct groups. Loghain and Cauthrien sat a ways off from the others, and then the rest of the teyrn's men made their own little group, leaving Alistair and Sayre by themselves. He tried to talk with her as they ate, just idle chatter that should have been innocent enough, but she seemed to grow more agitated as the sun set. When she stood up, he thought was was going to go hide in her tent, but Sayre went to fetch her weapons.

Alistair watched in silence as she checked her bow, applying a little wax to the string. Then she went through her quiver, seeming to check every arrow. Alistair knew very little about archery, so he had no idea what she was doing, but it all looked very tedious. Still, if it was what was required to be as skilled as she was, he didn't want to interrupt. He remembered watching her firing her arrows as the small groups of darkspawn or wolves had charged them, when they'd been in the Wilds before with Jory and Daveth. Her motions were so fluid, a hand pulling an arrow from the quiver on her back, nocking it, pulling and releasing, then back to grab another arrow.

"Where did you learn to shoot like that?" He asked idly, and when she looked up at him, he clarified. "I mean... like you do. I mean... who taught you to use a bow?"

"My mother," she said, turning her attention back to her arrows. Her fingers passed over each one, checking the feathers at the end. Some were pulled from the quiver for further attention, but most stayed where they were. "I guess Duncan knew her," she added, and that made Alistair sit up a little more.

"Really?" He asked.

Sayre nodded, her eyes still on the task in front of her. "I guess he wanted her to join the Grey Wardens, some years ago, but..." She shrugged.

Alistair nodded. "I'm guessing she taught you more than just how to shoot a bow, then," he said.

Sayre looked up at him, frowning a little. "Parents often teach their children more than just one thing," she said, and he grimaced.

"Well... of course. I just meant..." He shook his head. "I assume it was she who taught you how to use your blades as well," he added, and she nodded.

"Does that seem strange to you?" Sayre asked as she set her quiver aside to focus on the arrows she had pulled from it. "There is little formal training to be had in the alienage, but the skills my mother taught me were... vital for survival."

"Is the alienage such a violent place, then?" Alistair asked, imagining elves running around, dueling each other.

"It can be," Sayre replied, her voice soft. "Especially if you're not the agreeable sort."

Alistair chuckled, and the sound made Sayre look up at him again. "So I take it you're the sort who is not agreeable, then?" He asked, a smile on his face.

The smile was not returned, however. "I suppose it depends on what is being asked of me. Or demanded of me," she said, her eyes taking on a haunted look.

He wasn't sure what she meant by that, but he let it go. The look on her face made it clear she would appreciate it if he tried to get her to elaborate. "So..." He groped for a topic. It was the most he'd gotten her to talk yet, and he knew that once he'd used up the last of her patience for conversation, he'd likely be sitting by himself for the rest of the evening... or trip. "Was it hard leaving them? Your parents, I mean."

Sayre's hands stopped moving, and she looked at him, frowning once again. "What sort of question is that?" She asked. "Is such a thing ever easy? Was it easy for you?"

"I... don't really have any family to speak of," Alistair said. "So it wasn't really a matter of leaving anyone. I wasn't too particularly fond of the Chantry, so when Duncan rescued me from it, I was happy to go."

"You didn't like being a templar?" She asked.

"There were parts of it I enjoyed, I suppose," Alistair replied. "But the things I might miss are things I get here as well, with the Grey Wardens. But, you know... with a lot fewer priests."

He watched the corner of her mouth tug up in a half smile. "Hmm... I can't imagine being surrounded by priests was a particularly enjoyable experience." The smile seemed to slide away as she continued. "Sometimes we'd get a group of priests passing through the alienage. On occasion there would be one or two who actually seemed concerned with the state of things there and would try to help out, but usually they gave the impression that being there dirtied them somehow, as if touching anything, or anyone, would soil them. But they didn't come often, since few elves have the extra coin to donate to the Chantry."

As Alistair watched her work, he began to wonder if perhaps Sayre was just a little shy. With her hands busy, intent on a task that made it so she wouldn't have to maintain eye contact while holding a conversation with someone else, she was actually willing to talk. As she finished with her arrows and picked up her blades to begin sharpening them, a task he figured was probably unnecessary but gave her something to do, Alistair asked, "So, do you have any brothers or sisters?" When her hands slowed a little, he added, "I don't mean to pry or anything. I just... having no real family of my own, I guess I'm always curious about everyone else's."

"No siblings," Sayre said after a moment. "But my cousins, Soris and Shianni, were like siblings to me." Her voice seemed almost sad as she spoke of them.

"And this Soris, he's the one who says you have no sense of humor?" Alistair asked.

Sayre actually laughed at that, a light sound that seemed almost foreign coming from her lips. "Yes, although Shianni would agree with him on that. They've both always told me that I am much too serious, especially..." She hesitated a moment before continuing. "Especially since my mother died." The laughter was gone then, her eyes intent on the blade in her hands.

"Oh, I... I'm sorry," Alistair managed, not sure what else to say.

With a shrug of a shoulder, Sayre finally looked up at him, meeting his eyes. Her own eyes were strange, in a light, blue-green color that one only saw on elves. "I doubt you had anything to do with it, so there's no need to apologize. It happened years ago." She began collecting her things to her. "I'm tired, and I'm going back to my tent now," she stated. Well, they had talked longer than he might have thought would be possible with her. She turned to walk away but stopped to look at him over her shoulder. "Good night, Alistair," she said, and as she walked away, Alistair couldn't help but feel like uttering those three simple words had taken more of an effort from Sayre than any of the rest of their conversation.

She was definitely a strange woman. That was for certain.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: I should mention that there might be some possible/slight spoilers from the books _The Stolen Throne _and _The Calling _in this story, especially when dealing with the characters of Loghain and Duncan._

The Cousland boy's tracks were harder to follow than Loghain would have expected. Fergus' group was supposed to be out on a scouting mission, so it made sense that they were being careful about leaving tracks, but Loghain hadn't expected him to be quite so good about it. Still, they were able to find the trail and follow it, though the whole thing was much more slow going than he would have hoped. However, the most annoying thing about the whole expedition was the bastard and his idle chatter. Cauthrien and his own men stayed quiet as they moved, as he had only selected those who had worked with him for years and knew he preferred the silence. And Sayre was quiet, as he assumed she probably would be. Alistair, though, never seemed to shut up. He tried to talk to everyone, and Loghain relegated him to the rear of the group, just so he wouldn't have to listen to him prattle.

With each passing day they moved deeper into the Wilds. They encountered a few groups of wolves, but any that dared venture close enough to their group were taken out by Sayre before they managed to get too close. Loghain was actually quite impressed by how quick she was with her bow, as the girl somehow managed to draw it and fire off a few shots before the rest of them even had their swords drawn. And no matter how many arrows she fired, she always somehow managed to remember where she had shot them, and she would go to retrieve them once the threat was dealt with. Every evening he would watch as she went through her arrows, repairing any that needed it. Overall, he was surprised by her level of discipline. Her armor was always clean, her weapons always sharpened, and she was usually the first person up in the mornings, after himself.

Four days into the trip, the managed to find a solid trail and began moving faster. They had no idea where Fergus was, but each day that passed made it a little less likely that they would find him... or at least that they would find him alive. They were finally making such good time that Loghain didn't let anyone stop for lunch, making them eat as they walked. However, Loghain began noticing other tracks, and he called Sayre forward, wanting her eyes to help look out for anything that might try to attack them as he watched the tracks of the men they were following.

Sayre just briefly glanced at the ground before she said, "Wolves. Rabbits, too. It's possible the one was just following the other, and it crossed over here."

Loghain gave her a sideways look. He hadn't noticed the rabbit tracks. "Good with a bow and you can track," he said. "Odd skills, for an elf from the Denerim alienage."

Keeping her eyes on the ground, they continued on a few steps before she looked up at him to see the expectant look he was giving her. "I'm sorry, my lord," she said carefully. "Was there a question there?"

Loghain almost smiled. He couldn't help but notice she gave him a title, where she hadn't done the same for Cailan. "A question, yes," he said. "How does one such as yourself learn such skills? And how do you get enough practice to improve them?"

"One such as myself," she said quietly. Sayre kept her eyes down as she spoke, though he wasn't sure if it was to keep an eye on the tracks or to avoid meeting his stare. "My mother taught me," she said after a moment. "She was the one who taught me how to use a bow, how to use swords and daggers. As for practice..." She seemed to hesitate a moment, and then she straightened, bringing her face up to look at him, and he saw that same resolute expression she'd given Cailan when he questioned her about killing the Bann. "There is plenty of hunting to be had just outside Denerim's gates. It was there that I got plenty of practice with my bow."

"You mean poaching," Loghain stated, but Sayre didn't flinch.

"Some consider it such, yes. It is known that the lands surrounding the city are held for the king's use, but the king does not use them. I find it hard to believe that he often dines on squirrel or rabbit, or even deer, which is caught outside the gates." She lifted her chin, as if to compensate for the fact that the top of her head barely reached the height of his shoulder. "Hunting is forbidden simply because there might come a day when the king wishes to use the land for sport."

"You would steal from the crown, then?" Loghain demanded.

"The land is his, it belongs to the crown, and so we are not allowed to plant. But the animals... they may travel freely into and out of the land," she replied. "Do they belong to the crown simply because they were on the king's land when they died?"

"Most would say yes to that question," Loghain said.

At that, her chin dropped a little, and her voice softened. "Most have not seen the suffering that goes on in the alienages. Most have not had to listen to the children crying because they do not have enough to eat."

"Most would not care, even if they had," Loghain pointed out.

Sayre's head lifted again, her face turned in his direction, but it was like she wasn't quite seeing him. "I know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Then her eyes came back into focus, all ice and steel again. "But _I _care, so I did what I could to help."

Loghain swept his eyes across the ground, making sure they were still following the tracks. "Even if it means breaking the law?" He pressed her.

"There are just laws, and there are unjust laws," Sayre responded.

"It is very convenient," Loghain said. "To call a law unjust when you do not wish to follow it."

"As convenient as it is to say that you follow a law that has no bearing on your life whatsoever," she replied.

"I wonder," Loghain mused, reigning in his anger at being spoken to in such a manner. "Would you speak so... freely, were you not hiding behind the mantle of a Grey Warden."

"I am not hiding, my lord," she said with a shake of her head, though he noticed that her tone had grown more respectful. "Nor do I only confess to what I have done because I believe being a Grey Warden will protect me. Duncan did not conscript me until _after_ I confessed to my... crime, the punishment for which would have been my neck at the end of a rope. Poaching likely would only earn me a few lashes." Her eyes went back to the ground. "Whether I believe a law is unjust or not, I know that, if I break it, I may have to suffer the consequences of doing so."

Loghain frowned at her, trying to decide if she was attempting to be sarcastic, or clever. Oddly enough, she seemed quite serious. "So you don't believe killing the Bann was a crime, then?"

"For what he did, I think his death was justified," she said, though her voice had grown very quiet. "But I'm sure there are many who would disagree. After all, he was a human, and a noble. We were just elves."

Loghain scowled. "It sounds like a pretty excuse to me. That humans will never understand your... _plight_, and so you are justified in whatever you do." But if he was trying to get a rise out of her, he failed again.

"There are some who think that way," she said vaguely.

He decided to try another tactic. "So if it was your mother who taught you how to poach the king's animals, where is she now? Did she ever suffer the consequences of _her _actions? Or is she, even now, training someone to replace you, now that you're gone?"

There was a long pause before Sayre answered. "She's dead," she said finally.

"Ah," Loghain said. "How convenient it must be for you, that everyone with whom you have committed your crimes are dead, so that you need implicate no one but yourself." Sayre stiffened, and the tips of her ears seemed to turn pink. He could tell she was angry, but that's what he'd been aiming for, wasn't it? It was a practice he employed with many of his own guard, baiting them to see how much criticism they could take, to see how they would react.

"You must excuse me, my lord," she said, her voice cold. "...if I fail to find the deaths of my mother and my betrothed as... _convenient_."

An interesting reaction, that. It was not what he'd been expecting, but it pleased him nonetheless. His curiosity sated for the moment, Loghain went back to watching the trail they were following, but they had only gone a little ways before Sayre held up her hand. "Wait," she said softly, and he looked to where she was pointing.

"What is it?" He asked.

"More wolves," she said.

Loghain frowned. "I don't see any..."

Before he had even finished the sentence, Sayre had loosed an arrow from the bow that just seemed to appear in her hands. He heard a yelp, and then the rest of the pack was pushing through the brush to charge at them. They were Blight wolves, and they easily outnumbered his party, by almost three to one. Sayre dropped four more before they were too close for arrows, but by then everyone had their weapons out and were ready to fight. As a wolf charged at Loghain, he thrust out his shield, catching it across the head to fling it backwards. Bringing his sword down quickly, he caught another across the shoulder, only to have a third barrel into him from the side. He almost lost his balance, but he righted himself quickly, bringing the edge of his shield down hard on one of the wolves' head.

The skirmish was over quickly enough, though, and when Loghain raised his head up from the three dead wolves that lay at his feet, he saw that all the others were dead as well. One of his men had a nasty bite on his leg, but the group was otherwise injury-free. Cauthrien went to go see to the bite while Sayre began moving away to collect the arrows she'd used. Alistair, on the other hand, was doing a poor job of trying not to grin like an idiot. It seemed Maric's bastard could stand to see a bit more battle, to be so excited over a minor scuffle. But as Loghain was cleaning off his sword, the boy seemed to freeze in place, staring off in the direction that Sayre had gone.

"Darkspawn," he said. His voice was not loud, but it was enough for them all to hear, and everyone stopped to look at him. Alistair gestured with a hand. "In that direction. Not a large group, I don't think, but... large enough. And they've sensed us. They're coming this way."

"What do you mean, they've sensed us?" Cauthrien demanded, coming over to the two of them.

"Well," Alistair eyed her warily. "We're Grey Wardens. Just as I can sense them, they..."

"Wonderful," she snapped. "You've turned us into walking targets. So very helpful indeed."

"Cauthrien," Loghain said, giving her a look.

She squared her shoulders, then turned to the other men. "Come on, up and alert. Be ready for anything."

Loghain turned to peer out into the woods where the elf had gone. "Sayre," he called out. "Get back here now."

The girl returned at a jog, and she was almost to them when Loghain heard something whistle past the side of his head. He looked down to see an arrow in the ground, and when he looked to the skies, he saw more flying towards them. "Shields!" He called out, bringing his own up in front of him just in time to hear a loud _thunk_. When he lowered the shield, he saw an arrow protruding from the shield, a nasty, barbed thing. And then the darkspawn burst through the trees.

They were not nearly quite so outnumbered as they had been with the wolves, but the hurlocks and genlocks provided more worthy opponents. Another arrow landed in their midst, and Loghain called out, "Take out the archers!" The darkspawn's weapons were crude, their makeshift armor providing little protection against Loghain and his men. One of the creatures charged at him, but Loghain cut him down with a savage, cross-body slash. He turned to see another behind him, raising its club over its head to bring down on Loghain, but as he brought his shield around to block it, an arrow appeared, sprouting from the creature's throat.

The fight was nearly as short as it had been with the wolves, and the ground was soon littered with the bodies of the darkspawn as well as the animals. There were a few more wounds, though. Loghain looked around to see one of his men with blood running down his face from a cut to his head. Cauthrien had removed a gauntlet to nurse a large welt on her forearm. Sayre was the worst, though. As she stumbled towards the rest of them, he saw the blood under her hand, which was clutched to her side. The shaft of an arrow stuck out between her fingers.

"Maker damn it," Loghain muttered as he went over to her. "Sit down," he commanded, looking around for someone to help him. "Alistair," he called out, beckoning to the boy. He would have preferred Cauthrien's help, but not only did she have her own injury, he knew she was no lover of elves. While he didn't think she would harm Sayre, he couldn't count on her to be as careful as he would have wanted.

Loghain knelt in front of Sayre as Alistair came to stand behind her. "I'm going to have to remove your breastplate," he said, and Sayre's eyes widened in fear. He ground his teeth together. "You have a tunic underneath," he pointed out as he reached for the straps on her armor. Sayre made a move to assist, probably to keep him from touching her any more than he needed to. "Stop," he told her. "Keep pressure on the wound." As he pulled the breastplate over her head, he frowned. "You need new armor," he told her. "This is of horrible quality. No wonder you got hurt."

There was a tightness around her eyes as she replied. "The armorer in camp... doesn't have a lot made to fit... someone my size."

Loghain snorted, inspecting the wound. The head of the arrow was in her waist, below the ribs, though it was on the side of her body so it didn't appear to have hit anything vital. He probed the skin around the shaft, as well as her back, where he could barely feel the tip of it just below the skin. He looked up at Alistair. "Sit behind her," he told him. "Hold her arms."

"No," Sayre moaned and made as if to move away from both of them.

"Stop it," he commanded. "I can't pull the arrow out. The barbs would cause more damage pulling it out."

"So what are you going to do?" Alistair asked, his face going a little pale as he sank down behind her.

"I'm going to have to push it the rest of the way through," he said. "Once it's through, I can break the shaft. Now Sayre. Cross your arms over your chest." She just looked at him, that frightened rabbit look on her face. "Do it!" She complied, and Loghain turned to Alistair. "Grab her wrists and pull her arms tight across her body."

"What? No," Sayre protested, jerking away from Alistair when his fingers just barely touched her wrists. "I can hold still just fine on my own."

"I do not trust that you can," he said in a clipped voice, growing angrier as she continued to argue with him. "You, however, are going to have to trust that this is necessary. No one is trying to hurt you."

She met his eyes, and any fight that was left in her fled at his words. Loghain knew why she was hesitant to be held down, knew why she flinched at being touched by anyone, but he didn't have time to deal with her issues just then. Any wrong moves on her part, and the arrowhead could lodge further into her abdomen, causing serious damage. They couldn't afford to travel with a wounded person, especially when that person was the only archer in his group. Especially when they had no idea what condition the Cousland boy would be in when they found him. If they found him. Sayre finally nodded, holding her hands back, and Loghain gestured for Alistair to take her wrists. Drawing his knife, Loghain cut off one of the leather straps on Sayre's breastplate. It would have to be repaired anyway. He held it up.

"Bite down on this," he told her as he placed it into her mouth.

Sayre squeezed her eyes shut, and when he cut her tunic so that the skin right around the wound was exposed, she whimpered. He grabbed the shaft of the arrow in his right hand, his left on her shoulder. Maric would have had kind words for her, he thought, feeling a touch bitter. Maric would have said something to make her laugh, to distract her from the pain she was about to feel. Loghain could give her nothing but the pain, but at least he could make sure it was over quickly. With a firm hand on the arrow, he angled it so that tip was pointed out. Bracing himself against her shoulder, he thrust the arrow forward.

Sayre screamed.

…

…

…

It was quiet that evening, as everyone gathered around the fire to eat a quick meal. Loghain sat away from everyone except Cauthrien, and the two of them were conversing. From the looks of it, it almost seemed like they were arguing over something, or rather, it looked like Loghain was chastising a sullen-looking Cauthrien. The teyrn's guards were huddled at the far side of the fire, eating the stew that was heating in the large pot. Alistair, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen, but that was just fine with Sayre. She had no desire to talk to him or be around him just then, anymore than she wanted to speak with Loghain. Just remembering the way it had felt to have their hands on her made her shudder.

Logically, Sayre knew that neither of them had been doing anything other than trying to help her. She knew it was ridiculous to let it bother her. How else was the arrow to be removed from her side? She also felt a little ashamed by the way she had acted. Loghain had obviously been angry at her for balking at his orders. Once the arrow was removed, Loghain had told Alistair to help bandage her up, but she had refused his aid. The bandages had to go completely around her middle, and the thought of removing her armored skirt in order to lift her tunic high enough to bare her waist was too much. So she had driven the man off, probably offending him in the process.

Unfortunately, the bandages had been more difficult to manage than she had expected. Moving away from the group to provide herself with as much privacy as possible, she had finally pulled up her tunic to inspect the wound. It was an angry red color and seemed to hurt more when she looked at it. Holding the cloth to the two holes in her skin while she wound another piece around her waist had been tricky, and the bandages seemed to bunch and shift once she had replaced her tunic and breastplate.

At least Loghain hadn't ordered them to march again. The two fights, one right after the other, had caused them to momentarily lose the trail, as there were now hundreds of footprints ranging all over. So instead he told everyone to set up their tents, another task that was proving difficult for Sayre. The others had finished with theirs at least an hour before, but she was still struggling with hers. Pain lanced through her every time she bent over. One of Loghain's men had offered her assistance earlier, but when he had tried to take one of the tent poles from her hand, she had snapped at him, and that had been the end of his help. She regretted her hasty words, but she was also too proud to go over and ask him for any further help.

There was a shuffling sound behind her, and Sayre didn't have to turn around to know who was approaching. "You're being an idiot," Alistair said. "Or do you really think people are impressed by your _tough girl _routine?"

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," she replied, and he moved around to stand at her side, though not too close.

"Riiight. The whole _look at me, I can take an arrow to the body, yet I feel no pain_ act is very believable. No really." Alistair scowled. "So I'm curious. Are you too proud to admit you need help, or are you just too stupid to realize that you do?"

"You're angry at me," she said.

Alistair laughed at that. "What reason would I have to be angry with _you_?" He asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, right. Maybe because you act like I'm so far beneath you that you're insulted if I try to speak to you. Or maybe it's because you treat me like I have some sort of foul disease that you might catch if I get to close. Or is it because you practically tore my head off when I tried to help you earlier? So many good reasons... do I have to choose just one?"

Sayre blinked at him, trying to figure out what to say. "I..."

"Oh, just get out of the way," he said, and his harsh tone surprised her. Sayre took a step back, and Alistair moved in, grabbing at her tent. He had it set up in very little time, and when he finished, he glared at her. "There," he said before turning to walk away.

"Alistair," she called to him, and he paused, turning his head just a bit to look at her over his shoulder. "Thank you," she said. He snorted and took another step away from her. "Alistair, wait," she called to him again, and this time he turned around.

"What?" He asked, folding his arms over his chest. "Did I do it wrong? Perhaps I used the wrong knots, or..."

"I'm sorry," she said, and he paused in his rant to stare at her. "I know I have not been... fair to you, when you've been nothing but kind." She glanced at the tent. "Even when angry, you are still kind." A soft sigh escaped Sayre's lips. "Forgive me. I have little experience with humans, and..."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Alistair demanded. "Look... I respect Loghain and his men, but _we're _the Grey Wardens here. We're supposed to look out for each other. I know you don't know me very well, but I've given you no cause to stare at me like you do, like you think I'm going to... I don't know, stick a knife through your ribs when you're not looking or something."

"It's not..." She shook her head. "I don't think that. And I'm not trying to... impress anyone, not trying to make anyone think I'm tough. I certainly feel pain," she said, her hand going to her side. "It's just that I..." But her words left her when she looked down, and she lifted her hand up to see the blood on her fingers. "Andraste's ass," she swore.

"You're bleeding again," Alistair said, and he took a step towards her. The bandages had shifted, likely because she hadn't secured them tightly enough. But when Alistair took another few steps, bringing him closer to her than she would have liked, Sayre tensed. He frowned at her. "Yes, that's the look right there." He held up his hands. "Look, no knives. I have no plans of stabbing you. So you can either let me help you, or you can just stand there and bleed. It's up to you."

What choice did she have? "All right," she said before she could think about it too much and refuse the help she obviously needed.

However, then it seemed to be Alistair's turn to look hesitant. "Right. Well... you're going to have to take off the breastplate."

"Just... give me a moment," she mumbled before disappearing around the side of her tent.

"I'm going to go get some more bandages," he called to her, and then she heard his footsteps moving away.

Sayre removed the breastplate of her armor, setting it gently on the ground. Just that small act of bending over a little sent a flash of pain through her, and she clenched her jaw. Next she loosened her skirt so that she could pull her tunic free of it before tightening it back into place. The thought of standing before Alistair, before anyone really, in just her leggings, with her tunic pulled up to bare her stomach seemed wildly inappropriate. The tunic, which fell to her knees, was gathered up, and she wound it around her chest, tucking the end under her arm to hold it in place. It was the best she could do, but Sayre still felt very exposed, and she found herself unable to move from where she was hiding, behind the tent. More footsteps signaled Alistair's return, and Sayre felt her whole body tense when he appeared in front of her. She wrapped her arms over her chest, as if Alistair could somehow see through the thick fabric. He walked over to her, frowning at the blood-soaked bandages that were wrapped loosely around her waist.

"I'm going to have to remove those," he said, going to a knee in front of her. Sayre just nodded, tilting her head back so that she was looking at the sky and not the man in front of her. When she felt the brush of his hand, her whole body jerked back. "Maker's breath," Alistair said in an irritated voice. "Sayre, you're shaking. What exactly do you think I'm going to do to you?"

"I just... don't like people touching me," she said in a small voice.

"I see," he said, his tone flat. "Well, I'll be quick about it, then."

The old bandages were quickly stripped away, and Sayre began shaking even more as the cold air hit her bare skin. _Stop it_, she told herself. _Stop being such a coward_. She winced as new pads were placed over the open wounds, and then the new bandage was being wrapped around her. As soon as his hands moved away, Sayre let the tunic fall back into place, and she turned to reach for her breastplate. Alistair grabbed it first, though, as he stood up, and he held it out to her. When she showed the smallest bit of hesitation at taking it from him, he scowled.

"Andraste's flaming sword, woman, it's not some sort of trick," he said. "Just take the damn thing."

When she had it back in place, she finally looked at him. "Thank you," she said.

"What was I supposed to do? Let you bleed to death?" Alistair turned to go. "I may be a bastard, but I'm not an ass," he muttered as he walked away.

She felt like she should call to him. Apologize. Maybe even explain things. But the words died on her lips as she tried to form them, and she just let him walk away.


	5. Chapter 5

"So... what did you mean last night?" Sayre asked as she fell back to walk at Alistair's side.

He glanced at her only briefly before turning his attention back to the trail in front of them. He still wasn't sure what to think about her. Alistair knew he wanted her to like him, as he wanted _everyone _to like him, but he wasn't sure he liked her much. She always managed to find some way to insult him. The strange thing was that he sometimes felt like she wasn't actually _trying _to be mean, but how could someone be so cruel without actually trying to be? But from what he'd overheard from Loghain's men earlier that morning, he wasn't the only person who'd been put off by her.

"Sorry, you'll have to be more specific than that," he told her.

Alistair saw her nod out of the corner of his eye. "I meant, when you said that you might be a bastard, but you're not an ass. What did you mean by that?" She asked.

With a grimace, Alistair shook his head. Apparently it had been too much to hope that she'd been contemplating one of the _other _things he said, like where he told her that he didn't appreciate the way she was treating him. "It means... what it means," he told her. "It means I'm not an ass, so I don't appreciate being treated like one."

"I... you're right, you're not," she said. "And I have never meant to treat you as such. I just..." Sayre turned her head to look at him. "But why do you refer to yourself as a bastard?"

"Because it's what I am," he said, irritated with himself for even having mentioned the word. "You know, in the literal sense? As in, my mother wasn't married to my father?"

"Oh," she said "I see." They walked in silence for a while, and he had begun to hope that she would just let the subject lie, but that was too much to wish for. "So did you grow up without your father, then?"

"Without either parent," Alistair said with a shrug of his shoulder. "My mother died when I was just a baby. My father never publicly acknowledged me, so..."

"Do you even know who he is?" She asked.

"Yes," Alistair replied, his tone defensive. "But he was of the nobility. I only ever saw him a few times in my life."

"So he knew about you, then," Sayre said softly, and Alistair tensed, waiting for the jab that was surely coming. "Knew you existed, yet he couldn't find the time to spend with his own son." She scowled. "But then, he was a _noble_. Titles excuse all manner of sins, it would seem." The hostility in her voice startled him, and Alistair gave her a curious look. She had certainly jabbed, but he had not been the target, and that was surprising.

"Not a fan of the nobility?" He asked, smiling as she scowled again.

"No," she said.

Alistair waited for her to elaborate, but when she didn't he commented. "You seem to get along well enough with the teyrn. And with the king."

He noticed her stiffen, noticed her hands balling into fists. "It is generally ill-advised to provoke men of such status," she said carefully. "I am not so foolhardy as to express my views of the nobility _with _the nobility." She glanced at the man leading their little group. "The teyrn, though... well, he was not raised as a noble. And he has been... kind. Perhaps that makes him... different."

He knew he should let it go, considering her reaction, but he couldn't. His curiosity couldn't be helped, especially when the topic at hand concerned Cailan. "And the king?"

Sayre snorted. "I'm sure he _thinks _he's being kind," she muttered. He eyed her, and she shook her head. "I would just as soon stay as far away from that man as possible."

"Many people would be flattered to receive such attention from him," Alistair grumbled, thinking of his own situation.

"Yes, well..." She lowered her voice. "The next time he invites me back to his tent for the evening, I'll be sure to tell him you would like to take my place."

Alistair stopped walking, and Sayre took only a few more steps before turning to look at him. "He... his tent?" Alistair asked. That made no sense, unless she was suggesting... "But he's married."

"Yes, he is." Sayre agreed. She glanced over her shoulder at the rest of the group, which was moving further away. "Come on, we..." When she turned back to him, she narrowed her eyes, pulling out an arrow to nock it against her bow, pointing it past him before Alistair could even turn around to see what she was looking at. Behind them was a lone wolf. It sat there, unmoving, just watching them. Even when Sayre pointed the arrow in its direction, it didn't move. Instead, it tilted its head to one side in a very human gesture. "Strange," Sayre mumbled, lowering the bow. The wolf's tongue rolled out of its mouth into an expression that almost looked like a grin before it bounded away.

"Why didn't you kill it?" Alistair asked.

Sayre put the unused arrow back in her quiver. "It wasn't threatening us," she said. "Come on, we're falling behind." They both moved a little faster to catch up to the rest of the group.

As soon as they made camp for the night, Alistair went straight to sleep, knowing that he had to take second watch that night. As there were six of them, not counting Loghain, who didn't get figured into the rotation, they each stood watch every other night. It helped so that no one was completely exhausted all of the time, but still, it seemed like he had barely crawled into his bedroll before something woke him up. At first he was confused, sitting up halfway to figure out what was wrong.

"Alistair," came a soft voice again, and he realized that was what had awakened him. He could see Sayre's shadow outside his tent.

"I'm up," he muttered, and she moved away.

Alistair groped for his armor, pulling it on quickly. He ran his fingers through his hair to make sure it was neat, a habit that was often mocked by his fellow Wardens, and exited the tent. Sayre stood a ways off, near the fire, her back to him. He watched her as he pulled his boots on. For some reason he didn't want to believe what she'd said about Cailan. It seemed a very bold accusation to make, though, if it wasn't true. But what sort of man would just invite a woman he'd just met back to his tent? Especially if that man was married, and the father of his wife was in camp with them. It didn't make any sense.

As he walked towards her, she didn't turn, and it wasn't until he was standing at her side that she spoke. "Do you see that?" She asked, pointing off into the trees.

Peering in the direction she indicated, Alistair asked. "See what?"

"Right there," she said. "Next to that tall tree."

"All the trees are tall, Sayre," Alistair said, smiling a little.

With a sigh, she moved to stand directly in front of him, then pointed again so he could better follow the line of her arm. He squinted again, convinced there was nothing there to see when suddenly he saw the faintest glimmer, as if something out there was reflecting the light from the fire. "Are those... eyes?" He asked, feeling a shiver run through him.

Sayre stepped away so that she could face him. "I think so. I think it's the wolf. Thing is, though, it's just been... sitting there. Every time I've caught a glimpse of it, it's sitting right there."

"And... you still haven't killed it yet?" He asked.

She glanced off into the trees again. "It's just such strange behavior for a wolf."

"Which makes it an even better reason to kill it," he said. "What if it's rabid?"

The corner of her lip quirked up. "Rabid animals typically don't just sit there."

"So what are you going to do, then?" He asked, trying to see if he could catch sight of the animal again, assuming that's what was out there.

"Me? I'm going to get some sleep. I just wanted to let you know, since it's your turn on watch now."

"Hey!" He protested. "What if it decides to attack? If you're going to sleep, at least leave me your bow, so I can..."

She had the audacity to laugh at that. "There's no way you're touching my bow. Do you even know how to use one?"

Alistair shrugged his shoulders. "You point the arrow and pull the string. How hard can it be really?"

"I'm definitely not trusting you with any of my arrows," she countered. "If it gets too close, just... tell it one of your bad jokes. That should scare the thing away quickly enough."

"My jokes are _not _bad," Alistair protested. "It's hardly my fault that you're too dull and boring to understand any of them. And that's a shame because you're really missing out. Just ask anyone. I'm sure I'm greatly missed back at Ostagar."

Sayre just shook her head, though it almost seemed like she was smiling a little as she did. Her bow was propped up against a nearby log, and she reached to retrieve it, but she winced, placing a hand to her side as she bent at the waist. Alistair grabbed it up before she tried again, and then he held it out to her. When she reached for it, though, Alistair pulled it back, holding it in one hand as he poked at it with the other.

"Oh no, look what I'm doing. I'm touching your bow." He poked it again. "Ooh, look! I'm touching it again!"

"You're such a child," she rebuked, but this time she was smiling for sure. However, when he finally handed it over, their fingers barely touched, and she jerked back as if burned. Her sudden movement must have pulled something, though, and she clasped a hand over her side again, grimacing in pain.

Alistair sighed. "You know, you wouldn't have hurt yourself if you could just react to things like a normal person." She shot him a glare. "What? It's true. I mean, what did I ever do to you, to make you recoil like that? Do I smell? Are you afraid of my stink transferring to you, is that it? Or maybe..."

"Alistair," Sayre said, cutting him off. "Just... stop." She clutched her bow in front of her body. "Maybe if you'd just... lose the ego for a moment, you'd see that not everything is about you. No, you've never _done _anything to me, but... Look, maybe you can trust people right off, but not everyone is like that. Some people are more cautious. I meant what I said before, when I said I don't like people touching me. It's not personal, so stop taking everything so personally."

"Why?" He demanded. "What are you so afraid of?"

"Just let it go, Alistair," she said softly before turning to go back to her tent.

He couldn't let it go, though, and he followed after her. "Maybe if you just _tried_ to get along with people, put forth a little effort..."

Sayre stopped abruptly, and Alistair almost ran into her. "Don't act like you know everything about me, because you don't. This _is _me trying. I'm not sure what you expect from me, but just..." She sighed. "Please give me some space. Please try to understand that I _need _space. This," she said, gesturing to everything around them. "This is all very different for me, and it will take some getting used to."

He didn't know how to respond to that. It seemed strange that someone might need time to get used to being a Grey Warden. Alistair had known it was where he belonged the moment he woke up from his Joining. Maybe Sayre was right. He didn't know that much about her. Maybe he _was_ taking things too personally. Maybe he just needed to let it go. "How is your side?" He asked. "Are you still in pain?"

If she was surprised by the sudden change in topic, she didn't show it. "No more than would be expected, from a wound that is still so new."

Alistair nodded. "Have you changed the dressing today?"

"Yes," she replied. "I'm going to get some sleep now." She hesitated a moment, then added, "And thank you," before she turned to go to her tent.

Alistair just shook his head as he watched her duck inside, not exactly sure why she was thanking him, but it didn't really matter. It would probably just give him a headache if he tried to figure her out.

…

…

…

The next day of travel was spent in relative silence. It was nice in a way to be able to walk, keeping her eyes on the woods around her, without being pestered with questions. But at the same time, she almost missed it. After all, it wasn't like Shianni or Soris ever let a silence go unfilled. Maybe Alistair was right, maybe she could try a little harder to be friendlier with everyone. Maybe she needed to stop assuming the worst of everyone just because they were human. And maybe things would be better once they got back to Ostagar, and she wasn't in such close quarters with only a few people. Whether she wanted to be there or not, it was her place now. She was a Grey Warden whether she liked it or not. It wasn't like she'd ever be able to go back to Denerim. The thought made her sad, and she was feeling decidedly homesick by the time they stopped for the evening.

One of Loghain's men went out to scout around the area while the evening meal was being prepared. He returned after only a short while, after which he and Loghain spoke briefly. "Sayre," the teyrn called. "Come with us."

She followed the two men a short distance away from where they made camp. When they came upon the scene, Sayre clapped a hand over her mouth, the sight before her enough to make her stomach heave. The ground was littered with bodies, none of which were fully intact. From the smell, which kept Sayre's hand firmly in place over her mouth and nose even once the heaving had stopped, it was clear that the bodies had been there for a while. They had obviously attracted the animals of the Wilds, and it took everything in Sayre's power not to look too hard at the bodies to see which parts of them were missing. There were also a few darkspawn corpses lying with the men, though the animals had left those alone.

"There are fewer bodies here than there were men in the Cousland boy's party," Loghain said once Sayre had her stomach under control. "Someone had to have survived. If the teyrn... the teyrn's son is one of them, we need to find where he went. I want you both to find the tracks of the people who survived."

There was not much light left in the day, and Sayre hurried to the task given her. She was only too eager to get away from the smell of the bodies, which Loghain was picking through, probably trying to determine if the man they'd been looking for was among the dead. She did not ask the obvious question, which was whether or not they would continue to look for survivors if he was. It seemed doubtful that they would.

She picked quietly through the brush, her eyes to the ground, when a flash of movement caught her attention. Sayre turned her head to see a wolf sitting beneath a tree, as if it was watching her. It had to be the same wolf, but why was it following them? As soon as she looked at it, it stood and began padding away, only to stop and turn, looking at her over its shoulder. It took a few more steps, then stopped to look at her again. She got the distinct feeling that it was asking her to follow it, and though it made little sense, she did so. When the wolf saw that she was following, it moved quickly, only to stop moments later. Tilting its head to the side, its tongue hanging out of its mouth, it gave her that expression that almost looked like a grin before bounding away. Chiding herself for letting the wolf distract her, Sayre turned to go back when her eyes landed on a pile of small branches surrounded by a number of footprints. Had the wolf intentionally led her to it?

"My lord?" She called.

"Did you find something?" Loghain asked, and she turned her head to see him walking towards her.

She pointed. "I don't think we're the only ones who have been here. These tracks here seem to indicate that a large group of people came through. And look there. Those two small trees have been chopped down, and their limbs have been cut off." Loghain just looked at her. "I think maybe someone was injured, and these people, whoever they might be, made a litter to carry that person away."

Loghain grunted. "Chasind, no doubt. Well, keep looking. I have no desire to chase after barbarians if we don't have to."

However, no other tracks were found leading away from all of the bodies before it became too dark to see, and in the morning, they began following the ones Sayre had found. Apparently none of the bodies they had found had belonged to Fergus Cousland. They followed the tracks for two days before they saw the first signs of life. It was Cauthrien who spotted the houses in the trees, and as they got closer, they saw others that had been built up on tall stilts. Their arrival did not go unnoticed, though, and before they got too close, a group of men came out to stop them, all dressed in shabby armor, holding crude weapons.

"You will come no further," said the man in front. "We are a peaceful people, and we want no trouble."

Loghain held out a hand to the rest of them to stay where they were as he strode forward. "You have a man here that you found out in the Wilds, a couple days journey in that direction." He pointed. "Hand him over to us, and we will be on our way."

Sayre watched one of the men in the back of the group slink away, only to return a moment later with a man dressed in a long robe, his face covered in elaborate paints. He stepped forward. "I am Ilan, the shaman here. What is it you want with us?"

"You have a man here," Loghain repeated, and Sayre could hear the anger building in his voice. "He is not one of yours, but one of ours. We are going to take him back with us."

"Ah, yes. The patient. We found him a few weeks ago, along with a number of his companions who weren't quite so lucky as he." Ilan rubbed his hands together. "He was quite badly hurt, and he cannot be moved."

"He must have been able to move enough for you to get him here," Loghain shot back.

"Yes, well..." Ilan smiled. "That was a necessity. I think it would be unwise if..."

"I did not ask your opinion," Loghain spat. "I told you that he's coming with us."

"Easy there, friend," said the man who had spoken first, as he stepped up next to the shaman. "This is our land, not yours. You cannot order us around. Besides, there are many more of us than there are of you."

Sayre saw Loghain tense, and she drew an arrow from her quiver. Only Alistair, who was standing at her side, seemed to notice as she drew back the string. "And how long do you think any of you would last?" Loghain demanded. "You, in your paper armor, with your toy weapons. Maybe you might be able to overwhelm me, but how many of you will I kill before you do?"

"You would threaten us?" The man at the shaman's side demanded, his hand going to the sword at his waist.

"I don't need to threaten," Loghain said. "I think that, if you look behind me, you'll find that there's an arrow pointed at your head."

All eyes turned to Sayre, and there were more than a few of the men who took a step back. She wondered if he had known she'd drawn her bow, or if he just assumed she could do so quickly enough when he mentioned it. "She couldn't possibly make that shot," the man in front scoffed. "You're standing too much in the way."

"I have enough confidence in her to let her try it," Loghain said.

"There is no need for this!" Ilan said, rubbing his hands together again, though this time out of obvious nervousness. "Please, put down your weapons. I will take you to your... _friend_, but I warn you, he is in bad shape."

At a gesture from Loghain, Sayre lowered her bow, placing the arrow back in her quiver. They all followed the shaman to the only hut that sat on the ground, and inside was a single cot. The man in it appeared to be asleep, his face covered in the ugly yellows and greens of fading bruises, and there was a bandage wrapped around his head. "You see?" The shaman said, turning to them. "He cannot walk, and we've been keeping him sedated because of the pain he is in. You would have to carry him the whole way, and..."

"We can make our own arrangements," Loghain said shortly.

He instructed his men to make their own litter, and within an hour they had Fergus strapped to it and were leaving the village, if it could be called that, to head back to Ostagar. The trip back did not take nearly as long. There were a few times when they lost the trail, but it seemed the wolf was always conveniently there to help Sayre find it again. One evening, she was on her way back to the camp after doing a little hunting when she caught sight of the wolf again, just sitting there. She had four fat rabbits in her hand, and on some strange impulse she slowly set one on the ground as the wolf watched her. She turned to continue on when she heard a voice.

"'Tis unnecessary, but the gesture is appreciated. You have my thanks."

Sayre turned to see the witch standing where the wolf had been. "You? You're..." Morrigan just smiled at her. "I have heard stories about mages who can... do that, but..." Sayre frowned. "You've been following us. Why have you been following us?"

Morrigan made a vague gesture with her hand. "Let us say... I am intrigued by you. Besides, I have been able to offer you my aid. 'Twas helpful, was it not?"

Sayre glanced back in the direction of camp. "We will be back in Ostagar soon," she said. "I wouldn't suggest following us there."

"Oh?" Morrigan arched an eyebrow at her. "And why is that?" Her voice was cold, suspicious.

"There are templars there," Sayre said. "Or there were, when we left."

"You are concerned for my safety, perhaps?" Morrigan asked, sounding surprised. "Again, 'tis unnecessary. I fear no templar." She smiled. "But should I decide to visit, I will not be in this form." Then, in a flash of light, her body seemed to shift, and once again the wolf was there. It gave her one of its wolfy grins, snatched up the rabbit, and bounded away.

She sought out Alistair later that evening. It was strange to realize it was really the first time they had really spoken since she asked him to give her some space, and he gave her a surprised look when she sat down next to him. "I saw that woman," she told him. "Morrigan."

"What?" Alistair looked all around. "Where?"

"Earlier," Sayre said. "She... well, apparently she's the wolf that's been following us."

"What?" Alistair repeated. "Are you sure?"

Sayre nodded. "I saw her... do it. Change from herself into a wolf."

"A shapeshifter," Alistair said quietly. "She's even more dangerous than I thought, it would seem."

"She's been... helpful," Sayre said, describing to him all the things Morrigan had done in wolf form to help them, including finding the trail that ultimately led them to Fergus.

Alistair gave her an incredulous look. "You know she's doing all of that for her own reasons, right? She's not helping us out of the kindness of her heart, I can assure you of that. If she even _has _a heart." When she didn't respond, he shook his head. "I don't think we can trust her. What if she's some sort of spy?"

Sayre couldn't help but smile at the idea. "Who would she be spying for? The birds and squirrels who live out in the Wilds with her? Or perhaps it's for her mother. That must be it. She's trying to get into our good graces because she's been sent on some secret mission by her aging mother."

Alistair blinked at her. "Sayre... I don't mean to alarm you, but I think you may have just attempted to make a joke."

She shook her head. "Shut up, Alistair."

"Right," he said with a smile. "Shutting up now."

She didn't have to take watch that night, so Sayre went to her tent, happy to be able to get a full night's rest. She'd only been asleep for a short while, however, when the dream came. It was dark and disturbing, but it was the dragon at the end that had her screaming when she woke up. She heard a loud commotion outside her tent and wondered if she'd awakened everyone. Pulling on her thick cloak, she stepped outside to assure everyone she was fine.

"What is it?" Loghain asked as he, too, stepped from his tent. He was in his armor, though, and Sayre had to wonder if he slept in it, in order to be dressed so quickly.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just..." But then the words died on her lips when she saw Alistair exit his tent. His face was pale as a sheet, and he was looking right at her.

"You saw it, too, didn't you?" He asked, almost oblivious to the questioning stares from everyone around them. "The dragon?" When she nodded, he scrubbed his hand through his hair. "Maker's breath."

"What's going on here?" Loghain demanded.

Sayre just looked at Alistair since she had no _idea_ what was going on. "We both saw it," Alistair said. "In our dreams. We had the same dream, or close enough. It was the Archdemon."

"What are you saying?" Loghain asked, going over to him. "What does that mean?"

"It means Duncan was right," Alistair replied. "It means this really is a Blight."


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter. I've been on vacation and haven't had the time to write that I would have liked._

Loghain and his party had only been gone a few days when Eamon and his men arrived. When Cailan received word that they were close, he dressed in his armor and went out to meet him. His uncle looked weary as they marched in, and he ordered his men to go set up their tents before he turned to the king.

"Cailan," said Eamon. "I hear that we've arrived too late for the battle."

Cailan grinned. "You have, Uncle. You've missed all the fun."

Eamon snorted as the two men walked into camp together, surrounded by their personal guards. "We got the news of the battle as we passed through Lothering. I almost turned back, to return to Redcliffe, but I heard that your own army was holding here, and I wasn't sure if perhaps you had heard of further threats?" He looked at Cailan expectantly.

Cailan shook his head. "No. But Fergus Cousland was sent out on a scouting mission and hadn't returned, so I sent Loghain out to find him."

A smile played across Eamon's lips. "Ah, so he is not here right now, then. Good, good. There is much we must discuss, and I wouldn't have him interrupting or interfering." He gave a few commands for his tent to be set up, opposite Loghain's tent on the other side of Cailan's, and then he gestured to the king's tent. "Allow me a moment to freshen up, and then might I speak with you in private?"

Cailan just nodded, suppressing a sigh. Eamon was not quite as bad as Loghain in treating him more like an unruly child and less like the king that he was, but it was a close thing. Both men were older and therefore believed that they were wiser, and Cailan never felt more like he was living in his father's shadow than with he was with either of them. Luckily they hated each other, though, so he was almost never subjected to both at the same time. Cailan went back to his own tent, giving his guards instructions to admit the arl when he arrived. Then he waited. His eyes went to the small box at the end of his desk, which he used to hold any of his correspondences of a sensitive nature. There was a letter inside from Eamon, one they had yet to discuss, and he was afraid that was what Eamon wanted to talk about.

Wine was served to both men once Eamon entered his tent, and they chatted for a while about the battle and Eamon's trip before the arl leaned forward, setting his cup aside. "Do you plan to return to Denerim, once Loghain returns?"

"Likely, yes," he said. He opened his mouth to tell Eamon about the news they had received from Highever, as he wasn't sure his uncle had heard the news about the Cousland family, but Eamon spoke over him.

"Good. That's good. And have you given any thought to the issue I wrote to you about? Concerning Anora?" His lips pulled up, almost into a sneer as he said the queen's name.

Even though Loghain was gone, Cailan was still hesitant to speak on the subject of his wife. His guards did a good job of keeping people away from his tent, so that no one could possibly eavesdrop, but one could never be too cautious. "I have not," he said. "What you have suggested..." He shook his head.

Eamon frowned. "It's been five years, Cailan. You have been married for five years, but Anora has not produced an heir. You have to concede the fact that she may not be able to give you a child. Perhaps her... common blood..."

"Oh, is that what it is?" Cailan cut in, somewhere between amused and offended. "It seems to me that commoners manage to breed just as easily as nobles. In fact they often seem to be better at it. Or were you just looking for a way to insult my wife's family?"

Holding his hands up in a defensive gesture, Eamon said, "Forgive me. I know you are fond of the Mac Tirs, as was your father, but..."

"And who would you have me put in her place, if I were to... put Anora aside?" Cailan demanded.

"The Couslands have a daughter," Eamon said, unable to hide his smile at his obvious assumption that Cailan was actually considering his idea. "Elissa is nearly twenty now, and..."

"She's dead," Cailan said bluntly, and Eamon's mouth dropped open. "They all are. I suppose you must have already been on your way here when it happened, but Rendon Howe has taken Highever. I don't know why, but I intend to find out. _That _is the reason why I will return to Denerim soon. _That _is the reason why it was so important for Fergus Cousland to be found that I sent Loghain to find him. A Landsmeet must be called." Cailan scowled. "As if we really need to be focusing on politics at a time like this," he added dramatically.

Eamon seemed stunned, still gaping at Cailan as his mouth worked soundlessly. "Dead..." he whispered finally. "All of them?"

"All but Fergus, according to the reports," Cailan replied, watching Eamon's reaction. As far as he knew, the Guerrins were not close to the Couslands, and he was trying to figure out why Eamon seemed so troubled by the news. Was it because their deaths ruined his plans, or was it something else? "Did you know the teyrn well?" He asked, knowing the answer to the question.

"No, not really," Eamon said. "But the Couslands are a respected noble family in Ferelden. That they could be..." He shook his head.

So that was it, then. It seemed Eamon was bothered because he believed that, if one noble family could fall, then so could another. "The Howes are a respected family as well," Cailan pointed out, although he'd never been fond of Rendon. The man had always seemed a little... off, like there was just something not quite right with him. "But as soon as Loghain gets back with Fergus, assuming the man is still alive to be found, I'll send word to Anora to call a Landsmeet. That way the other nobles should be arriving by the time we get back."

Eamon frowned at the mention of the queen's name. "Your Majesty, I truly think it is best for Ferelden if..."

"Enough," said Cailan. "If ever there is an appropriate time for a conversation like this, now is certainly not it. We have bigger issues to deal with than my wife's inability to bear me a son."

Eamon grumbled a little, but he didn't push it any further. It was a conversation they'd had before, one that had not ended well. Whatever his own personal feelings towards his wife might be, Cailan wasn't about to listen to his uncle disparage her. Especially since he knew a lot of Eamon's dislike of the queen stemmed from his animosity towards her father. It didn't help things that Loghain made it known that he didn't particularly care for Eamon's choice in a spouse. Of course, Loghain didn't care for anything from Orlais, and he was never shy about letting people know that he disapproved of the fact that Eamon had found himself an Orlesian wife.

Thoughts of Orlais pulled Cailan's eyes back to the box on his desk. The letter from Eamon was in there, but so were two other missives that could likely cause him more troubles than the one from his uncle, were they to fall into the wrong hands. And anyone's hands but his own would be the wrong ones, he was certain. It was foolish to keep them, but he just couldn't bring himself to destroy them. Not when he took the time to really consider their significance, for himself personally as well as for Ferelden. But like the letter from Eamon, it was not the time to be thinking about them.

"So will you remain here and travel with us to Denerim when we go, then?" Cailan asked.

"It seems a waste to return to Redcliffe if you're going to call a Landsmeet," Eamon replied, still looking a little sullen.

"Indeed," Cailan agreed. "And will you send for your wife and son, then? It seems Connor is about of an age to be attending them with you."

Eamon shook his head. "No, not for something such as this. I think I would prefer that Connor's first Landsmeet is a little more mundane than what this one will likely turn out to be. Besides, Isolde had just found him a new tutor when I left. He should have just arrived a week or two ago, so I think it best to leave them to get acquainted." Then something seemed to occur to him, and he glanced at the flap of the tent. "Is Alistair here, with the other Grey Wardens? I would... like to see him, if he is."

It was Cailan's turn to scowl. "He is with Loghain and his men, out looking for Fergus Cousland," he answered.

"He's with Loghain?" Eamon repeated, his frown growing. "Why would he be with Loghain?"

Cailan couldn't repress the sigh that escaped his lips. "How should I know?" He asked irritably. "I do not keep track of the man's comings and goings."

"He _is_ your brother," Eamon said, his voice taking on a lecturing tone. "Illegitimate or not, he..."

"Enough," Cailan cut in again. "I will not be lectured by you, on this topic or any other. So if there is nothing else, you are dismissed."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Eamon replied, offering a short bow before he turned and exited the tent.

Cailan just shook his head as he watched the tent flap drop close. He might not mind Eamon's meddling and interfering if he thought it was from a sense of worry for Cailan's well-being, but he knew that was not the case. It always seemed as if Eamon's main worries were his own ambitions and the advancement of his family. He had never liked Loghain, and Cailan couldn't be quite sure what it was Eamon disliked about the teyrn the most: the fact that he'd come from a common family to be raised to a station above Eamon's, or the fact that the man had been held in a higher esteem by Rowan, Eamon's sister and Maric's queen, than Eamon was comfortable with. Either way, he didn't like Loghain, and by extension, he didn't like Anora as Cailan's wife.

As for Alistair, Cailan had never been quite sure what Eamon's purpose had been in keeping his half-brother so close, but that hardly mattered. If his uncle wished to have some happy reunion with Alistair, that was between the two of them. Cailan wanted nothing to do with it, though the whole thing struck him as odd. Rowan had been Cailan's mother, not Alistair's, so Eamon was not related to the man at all. None of that was important, though. What was important was that Eamon had arrived with his men. Cailan would combine his uncle's men with his own and with Loghain's. Eamon's men would help replenish those they had lost in the battle.

A week passed, and Cailan began to grow worried that Loghain had not yet returned. He didn't worry so much that there was a chance he _wouldn't _return, since he'd always figured the teyrn would somehow manage to outlive him, even if just out of spite, but rather he worried what it might mean concerning Fergus. Though if there were no surviving Couslands, then that would mean there was little cause for a Landsmeet, since there would be no one there to counter whatever Arl Howe claimed was his reason for attacking Highever. Maybe his reason was legitimate, and maybe it wasn't, but what really bothered Cailan was that the Couslands were supposed to be bringing men to Ostagar as Eamon had. Rendon Howe did not have quite the resources that Bryce Cousland had, and their absence was just one more blow to an already suffering army.

One night Cailan had just drifted off to sleep when he was awakened by shouts from within the camp. He poked his head outside to see a ring of guards surrounding his tent, as they had been trained to do whenever any sort of threat to the king was perceived. "What's going on?" Cailan demanded.

"We don't know, Your Majesty," said one of his guardsmen. "There was shouting from the Grey Wardens' camp, but there is no sign of battle or any sort of attack. Some men have gone to see what's happening."

Cailan quickly ducked back inside, pulling on his armor, but when he went back out of his tent again, he saw Duncan striding towards him. "There is no need to be alarmed, Your Majesty," Duncan said. "We are in no immediate danger."

Cailan repeated the question he'd given his guardsman. "What's going on?" He asked.

"Dreams," Duncan said. "Nightmares, I suppose. Many of the Wardens who were sleeping have dreamt of a dragon. The Archdemon. This _is _a Blight, as I have stated before. Now we have proof."

Cailan wondered what it said about him, that he was almost more excited about the news than he was worried. Perhaps he would be given the chance to create his own legacy after all. When Loghain finally returned, a few days later, an injured Fergus in tow, he immediately sent a message on to Denerim, to instruct Anora to call a Landsmeet. It seemed they would have more to discuss than just what was going on in Highever.

…

…

…

As soon as they got back to the camp, Fergus Cousland was taken to the mages, to find a healer who could see to his many wounds. Loghain went off to report to the king, and the rest of them were free to relax and see to their own personal needs. Alistair dumped his pack inside his tent before going to have himself a bath. Only once that was done did he begin unpacking his things, sniffing at his clothing to determine which items actually needed to be washed, and which he could get by with just hanging outside to air out. It wasn't until later that evening that Alistair saw Sayre again, but when he did, he saw her sitting off by herself, going through her arrows. That was not in any way out of the ordinary. What was strange, though, was the mabari sitting at her feet. Alistair watched her for a while, puzzled at her new companion. The warhound sat calmly at her side, and Sayre seemed to startle a few times, as if she forgot that the animal was there. Curious as to why it was there, Alistair stood and went over to her.

The mabari just barely lifted its head at Alistair's approach, its ears perked as it cocked its head to one side, probably trying to decide if he was a friend or foe. Alistair sank down to one knee, holding a hand out. "Hey, boy," he said in a light, sing-song voice that only ever seemed to be used around either dogs or babies. "Who's a good boy?"

"It's a girl," Sayre said, looking at him with a slight smile, still mostly focused on the arrows in her hands.

"Oh," Alistair said, turning his attention to the mabari. "Do forgive my ignorance, my lady," he dipped into a bow from his seated position. "I apologize for my mistake."

Sayre's smile widened a little. "That might be a good name for her. _Lady_."

"She's certainly prettier than many noble ladies I've met," Alistair offered as he reached up to scratch the mabari behind her ear. "Probably smarter, too." Sayre's smile turned into a soft laugh. "So... where did she come from?" Alistair asked. "How did she..."

"I guess she... imprinted on me? Is that the right word?" Sayre shrugged a shoulder. "I'd never even _seen_ an animal like this before I came here. And now..." Sayre actually looked a little embarrassed. "She was sick. You probably don't remember that flower I was looking for, when we went out into the Wilds with... well... that flower was needed to heal her. As soon as we got back to camp today, she sort of came looking for me. When I passed by, she jumped out of her pen, and she's been by me ever since."

"So she's yours then?" Alistair asked, trying to keep the jealousy from his voice.

Sayre ducked her head, setting the arrow she'd been working on across her lap. "I... guess so." She idly scratched at the mabari's head. "Since she imprinted on me, they say she won't on anyone else. It seems strange, though. That they would just give her to me."

"Well, from the way I've always understood it, it's the mabari that picks its master, not the other way around," Alistair said. "They say the mabari only chooses a master it deems worthy of it. It's supposed to be a great honor, really."

He couldn't help but notice the way that the tips of her ears turned pink when she blushed. "I hardly think I'm worthy of such an animal," she said quietly. The mabari let out a soft bark and licked Sayre across her cheek. She laughed softly as she wiped at her face with the back of her hand.

It seemed Sayre had found yet another way to make him envious. How was it she managed to have so many fortuitous things happen to her in such a short time? "You certainly are lucky, that's for sure," Alistair muttered.

Sayre cocked her head at him. "What do you mean?" She asked.

With a shrug of his shoulder, Alistair said, "Well, first you gain the personal attention of the king only a day after surviving the Joining. Then Teyrn Loghain takes an interest in you, asking for you specifically to join him on the expedition, complimenting your skills with a bow in front of all of the rest of us. Now you have your own mabari, something that seems rare even among the nobility. And..." He paused as he noticed that Sayre had gone unusually still. "What?" He asked.

"You think I'm... lucky? Because I was propositioned by the king?" She gave him a look of disgust.

"Oh. I..." Alistair scrubbed his fingers through his hair. How could he have forgotten about that. So much had happened since she'd mentioned that to him, and he had never really wanted to believe it in the first place. "Maybe that was just a misunderstanding," he offered, trying to make sense of her accusation against Cailan. "Maybe he..." He shrugged, at a loss for an explanation.

"You don't believe me," Sayre said flatly. "You think I'm making it up. You can't possible see why a handsome king might try to take advantage of an ugly little elven girl. So I must be some sort of idiot who didn't understand that when the king told me it was cold outside, and that he was willing to offer me the _warmth _of his tent, he probably just meant to lend me some of his blankets and send me on my way."

"What? No, I..." Alistair shook his head. "I didn't mean..." But he trailed off when he realized the low sound he was hearing was coming from the mabari. She had lifted her head up and was growling softly. "Right. I'm just going to..." He gestured to the fire. "...go over there now." He turned and moved away without waiting for a response, not that he believed he'd get one anyway.

As he sat down next to the fire, Alistair wondered yet again why he bothered trying to befriend her. She obviously didn't wish friendship of him, or of anyone else, either. He picked up a few nearby sticks, feeding them into the fire when a few of the other Grey Wardens sat down near him. Eddro was tall and lanky and one of the Wardens' best scouts. Despite the long, dark hair that hung in his eyes, he never seemed to miss a thing of what went on around him. Nevar, on the other hand, was short and fair, with shoulders that seemed to be half as wide as he was tall. His manner was much like his fighting style: blunt, abrupt, and in your face. Ben, the third man who sat down next to him, was so plain of face that it was hard to describe him. His looks were wholly unremarkable, which had made him a very successful pickpocket. It wasn't a lack of skill that had landed him in prison, but rather that he refused to give a share of his spoils to the heads of one of the gangs in South Reach, where he'd grown up. For that reason he'd been framed for the murder of a minor nobleman in the area, or so he claimed.

"So, what do you think of her?" Nevar asked as he thudded to the ground at Alistair's side.

"Who?" Alistair asked. "Sayre?"

"No, our blessed Andraste," Nevar answered with a snort. "Yes, Sayre. She seems like quite the loner."

Alistair shrugged. "I don't really know," he admitted. "Sometimes it seems like she'll be all right, but other times she's cold as ice."

Ben chuckled. "Well, she _is _a woman," he replied. "But then, I don't suppose the Chantry boy has much experience with women, to know that's how they are." That earned him a scowl from Alistair and smiles from the others.

The mockery of his innocence was something Alistair had grown used to. He knew none of them did it in a mean-spirited sort of way, but it always left him with the desire to prove that he was not quite so naive as they believed him to be. "It's more than that," Alistair said hurriedly. "She..." He scrambled for something to say. "Well, she seems to have an intense fear of any sort of physical contact." The others raised their eyebrows at that. "I mean... she was hurt, when we were out there with the teyrn, and she practically came out of her skin when the teyrn removed the arrow, _and_ when I bandaged her up. Or if she accidentally bumps into someone, she acts like they've just assaulted her."

"Is she like that with everyone? Or just you?" Ben asked with a grin.

"Maybe she's just as innocent as Alistair here, and she's worried about protecting that innocence," Nevar guessed.

"I doubt that," Eddro said quietly, and everyone looked at him. "That she's as innocent as Alistair, I mean," he clarified with a smile. "She _is _married after all."

"What?" Alistair said. "She is? How do you know that?"

Eddro tapped his left hand. "She wears a wedding ring. You hadn't noticed?"

Alistair hadn't, but he wasn't surprised that Eddro had. "I guess I hadn't. That's odd. She's never mentioned a husband." He glanced over to where Sayre was still sitting.

"It _is_ odd," Eddro agreed. "Maybe she's just a private person. She certainly isn't the outgoing, talkative type. Or maybe she's not too fond of her husband. Maybe she's _glad_ to be away from him." He leaned forward, pitching his voice lower. "Maybe he beats her. That might explain why she flinches from you, Alistair."

"What, you think she feels threatened by me?" Alistair demanded.

"Not just by you. Beat a dog often enough, and it will shy away from any hand extended to it, even if you just mean to scratch it behind the ears," Eddro replied.

"You haven't seen her in a fight," Alistair countered. "She'd be a formidable opponent against anyone you tried to do her harm. I can't see her as the type of woman who would just let a man beat on her."

"You never know," Eddro said. "Sometimes women are stupid that way, standing by a man who beats them because they think they love them." He shook his head. "Hard to say."

"Maybe she killed him," Ben put in, and Alistair rolled his eyes. It was a game Ben and Eddro liked to play, taking one small piece of information and trying to concoct the most elaborate story around it, both trying to one-up the other man while still keeping the story at least somewhat plausible. "I heard whispers that Duncan had to conscript her. Maybe she was going to be hanged for her husband's murder."

Eddro scoffed. "If she killed him, I doubt she'd still be wearing the ring."

Ben frowned. "Oh... right, I suppose there's that. Well... maybe she..." He trailed off when their group was joined by another man.

Leonas was one of the older Wardens in Ostagar, only a few years younger than Duncan. In fact, after Duncan, he was probably the person Alistair was closest to. Leonas had always been kind to him, had never mocked his sheltered upbringing, and he was always willing to take the time to listen to Alistair's worries or give him advice when he needed it. He nodded to all of them as he sat. "What are you all gossiping about?" He asked.

"Sayre," answered Nevar. "We're trying to guess what her story is. Eddro thinks she's married, and Ben thinks she killed her husband."

Ben gave an embarrassed chuckle. "Not truly," he said.

"If you're curious about her, why don't you just ask her your questions instead of talking about her when she's not around?" Leonas inquired, then turned his head before any of them could respond to call out. "Sayre! Come over here. Join us." Alistair winced slightly as Sayre looked up, hesitated, then slowly made her way over to the fire, the mabari padding along at her side. Once she was seated, Leonas said, "The men here had some questions for you."

Sayre looked suspicious as the men all glanced nervously at each other. Would they all be so nervous had she been a man? Alistair wondered. But then Ben worked up the courage to ask, "How did you come to be a Grey Warden?"

Resting a hand on the mabari's head, Sayre answered. "In the same manner as the rest of you, I suspect." She met Alistair's eye. "Alistair was there. The Joining..."

"No, not that," Ben cut in. "I mean... how did Duncan find you?"

"Oh," Sayre said, and Alistair noticed her stiffen a little. "He came to the alienage in Denerim, where I lived."

"We heard he had to conscript you," Nevar stated.

"That's... true," Sayre admitted. "He did."

"Why?" Nevar pressed.

Sayre fidgeted where she sat, clearly uncomfortable with the question. It didn't help that she really didn't know any of the other men. Alistair actually felt a little pity for her, that she was put on the spot in front of so many. A number of emotions passed across her face, but then they all just slid away, and she looked up, a steely resolve on her face. "He had to, in order to save me from the hangman's noose."

"What'd you do?" Nevar asked.

Her face paled a little, and it took a moment before she answered. "I... killed a man," she said finally. "A _human _man," she amended, almost in a challenging way.

"And did he deserve to die?" Leonas asked before Nevar could speak again.

"Yes," she answered in a whisper.

"I can't say the same about the man I killed which resulted in my own conscription," Leonas said. It was a story Alistair had heard before, but it was still one he had a hard time reconciling with the man as he knew him. "When I was a younger man, I was taken to drink, and I had a bit of a temper as well. I was particularly drunk one evening, and I ended up killing a man in a brawl."

Sayre appeared to be shocked at so frank a confession, but Alistair knew why Leonas had told her that. The Grey Wardens took in anyone who might serve the order well, no matter what their background might be, and Leonas obviously wanted Sayre to know they didn't judge her for a less-than-perfect past. Still, it was hard to imagine Sayre as having killed someone. Maybe Ben had been right after all.

"Who was he?" Nevar asked of Sayre, as if he'd just been waiting for Leonas to finish his story so he could ask the question, which seemed even more difficult for Sayre to answer. Alistair felt pity again. It was clear she didn't want to answer. "And are you married?" Nevar pressed on. "We've noticed you wear a ring."

Sayre clasped her hands together, hiding the ring from view, and it was then that Alistair noticed the mabari. It seemed even more alert than normal, probably reacting to Sayre's obvious tension. He didn't want to see what might happen if the animal felt that she was being threatened in any way, which was why Alistair spoke up. "Oh, leave her be, Nevar. She'll share the story some day, if and when she wants." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "We all have our secrets, our private things we don't wish everyone to know."

That pulled the attention to Alistair. "Oh really? And what sorts of secrets do _you _keep, Chantry boy?" Eddro asked with a grin.

With a wince, Alistair realized that the secret he kept was not one he wished to share, not then, not ever. But he didn't want to say he had _no_ secrets, as it would only reinforce their beliefs about him. "I have my secrets," he said, a touch sullenly. "Like... the fact that I keep love letters from Nevar's sister under my pillow."

That brought out a round of laughter, not least of all from Nevar. "I'd believe it of her, the wanton hussy," he said with a grin. "That'd hardly be shocking."

"Oh, well I've got love letters from Nevar's _mother _under _my _pillow," Ben piped in, and the laughter grew, although not from Nevar any longer.

"You take that back," Nevar demanded. "My mother is a blessed saint, like unto Andraste herself." He let out a low growl. "Apologize."

"No... don't think I will," Ben grinned at him.

With that, Nevar launched himself at Ben, and the two of them rolled around in the dirt. Alistair glanced at Sayre to see her eyes widening in alarm for a moment, but when he caught her eye, he smiled at her. Scarcely a day passed without someone getting into a good-natured wrestling match. The others cheered them on, and only a minute or two passed before Nevar had Ben pinned with his arms behind his back, face pressed into the ground.

"Say it," Nevar growled.

"I apologize!" Ben shouted, the laughter clear in his voice.

"Say it!" Nevar demanded again.

"Your mother is a blessed saint, like unto Andraste herself," Ben added, and with that he was released.

Many of the others clapped Nevar on the shoulder while Eddro helped Ben up to his feet. Alistair glanced at Sayre again, noting the confused look on her face, but then someone was calling that dinner was ready, and the men began moving to the tent that had been set up as a mess hall. Alistair hung back, and Sayre walked up to his side.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"Don't mention it," Alistair said, feeling foolish for having waited for her. He turned to go.

"No, I..." She did something he wouldn't have expected. She touched his arm ever so lightly. Her fingers didn't linger at all, but that small bit of contact still startled him. "You didn't have to do that. You could have just..." Sayre shivered, and Alistair realized that the look on her face was one of fear, though it wasn't directed at him.

"I meant what I said before," Alistair said quietly. "About how Grey Wardens look out for each other. Nevar may be a little pushy, but he means well. They all do. I think... I think we all just want you to feel like you're a part of us, instead of apart _from_ us."

Sayre just nodded, and they both turned to go to the mess tent. "Do you really have love letters from his sister under your pillow?" She asked after a moment.

Alistair couldn't help but laugh. "Didn't you hear what they said? Nevar's sister is a wanton hussy, and I'm an innocent Chantry boy. What do _you_ think?"


	7. Chapter 7

If Loghain had believed that the Cousland boy would show him some sort of appreciation or gratitude for his rescue, he was quickly relieved of such a foolish notion. Fergus treated Loghain no differently from how the Couslands had always treated the Mac Tirs. With a quiet, polite disdain. Not that he had any more love for their family than they have ever shown for his, but it grated at him that the boy had turned up his nose at him almost as soon as he was able to hold his head upright. At least he had healed quickly. The mages had seen to that.

So he sat inside Cailan's tent with the newly-healing Fergus. The king had brought in chairs rather than his usual method of making people stand before him. Eamon had also bullied his way into the meeting, much to Loghain's chagrin. He'd been none too pleased to find the arl was there in Ostagar when he returned, especially when he heard that Cailan had already sent a bird informing Anora to call a Landsmeet. That meant the insufferable old fool would be traveling with them to Denerim. At least his Orlesian whore of a wife wasn't with him. Loghain clenched his teeth together whenever his eyes passed over Eamon's form. It never ceased to amaze him that Eamon and Rowan shared the same blood.

"So are you going to tell me what this is all about?" Fergus asked of the king, pulling Loghain from his musings.

The four of them were not quite equals, but perhaps they were close enough that Cailan had seen fit to do away with titles for the meeting. The king put on a smile, but it was obviously forced. "We've had news from Highever, but I wanted to wait until you were healed before I shared it with you."

Fergus nodded. "About my father, I assume. Why is he not here? He and Rendon Howe should have been right behind me, along with their men. Yet it's been weeks since I arrived." Loghain could see the tension in the boy's eyes. He was not stupid, it was obvious. He knew something was wrong.

"I'm sorry, Fergus," Cailan said, leaning forward in his chair. "He's dead. There was an attack on Highever, apparently the night after you left, and..."

"Who?" Fergus demanded, his face turning red with anger. "Who would dare..."

"From the reports we've received, it was Arl Howe. I have yet to hear a reason for why, which is why the Landsmeet has been called." Cailan leaned back in his chair.

Perhaps the king was expecting some sort of explanation from Fergus, but Loghain was not. Not that he needed one, exactly. He'd heard the whispered accusations Rendon had brought against the Cousland family. He claimed they were conspiring with the Orlesians. A damning thing, if true. The trouble, though, was that Loghain never fully trusted the arl. Howe was a sniveling weasel of a man, often more content to sit back and plot rather than actually move forward with a plan. He was the sort of man that others allied themselves with not because they wanted to, but rather only when it was out of a sense of necessity. However, the fact that he had moved against Highever either meant that he had irrefutable proof, or he had seen a weakness and attacked it. Knowing of Loghain's own hatred for Orlais, Rendon had gone to him with his rumors, but he'd never been able to produce solid proof when Loghain demanded it of him.

"And what of my mother?" Fergus asked in a strangled voice, but Cailan just shook his head. "My sister? My wife?" He choked, his voice thick with emotion when he asked his next question. "My son?" When no one answered, Fergus let out a mournful, "Oh... Maker."

Everyone turned away, in an attempt to give the man a little privacy in his grief. No matter how much he might have disliked the man, Loghain could understand the pain Fergus must have been experiencing. At least he did not disgrace himself by sobbing aloud. After an adequate amount of time had passed, Cailan cleared his throat softly. "Whatever Howe's reasons, he will be made to explain himself when..."

Fergus cut him off, his outrage bringing him nearly to a shout. "_Explain_ himself? I demand that he be executed for the murders of my family! That traitorous ass stood in our home, assuring us that his men had been delayed but they would be there soon. That was why I went while my father stayed behind." He let out a slew of curses that had even Loghain cringing as he described what he thought of Rendon Howe and what he saw as a suitable punishment for the man.

"I understand your anger," Cailan said, trying to reestablish control of the meeting. "And as soon as you are ready and able to travel, we will begin our journey back to Denerim. The other nobles throughout Ferelden should be on their way as well. I mentioned in the missive I sent that you were returning from Ostagar, and that the matter of what had happened in Highever would be discussed, along with the issue of this Blight that seems to be upon us." At that, he turned to Loghain, and the teyrn couldn't help but notice the tinge of smugness in the king's voice. "While you were away, there was a night when nearly all of the Grey Wardens dreamed of the Archdemon. It seems this really is a Blight after all."

"Yes... I'm well aware," Loghain said, keeping his tone even. "The two Wardens who were traveling with me were similarly affected." It took an effort not to roll his eyes at the obvious disappointment on Cailan's face. He wondered what reaction the king had been hoping for.

"Your Majesty," a guard called from outside the tent. "The Grey Warden Commander is here."

Cailan nodded, turning to Fergus. "You are dismissed then. We will prepare to leave here in a few days."

Fergus glanced at Loghain and Eamon before turning back to the king. "It this meeting you are to have with the Grey Warden concerns the teyrn and the arl, then I will stay as well. With my..." He audibly swallowed. "With my father gone, I am the teyrn of Highever now."

Loghain wondered if Cailan would point out that Howe had proclaimed himself to be the new teyrn of the north, but the king simply commanded the guard to show Duncan in. He entered and moved to stand in the center of the tent. "You sent for me, Your Majesty," he stated.

"I did," Cailan agreed. "We need to discuss how we're going to build up our armies. Each of my arls will provide men, of course, but I fear that won't be enough. The Orlesian Wardens..."

"No," Loghain cut in, sharply enough that everyone turned to look at him. "I'd rather see Ferelden fall to the Blight than to give it back to the damned Orlesians." Cailan gaped at him, but Loghain just stared back at him. "You would undo everything that your father and I worked for? Your mother, too."

The awkward silence was broken by Duncan, who cleared his throat before he spoke. "The Grey Wardens formed treaties with the Dalish, the Circle mages, and the dwarves of Orzammar many, many years ago. We have recovered these treaties, and I intend to send men to each of these groups, to gather troops from each. That will help bolster Ferelden's armies."

Loghain didn't like the idea of relying on the Grey Wardens at all, whether they were from Ferelden or Orlais. However, he had to admit that Duncan's idea was slightly more appealing than Cailan's had been. The suggestion of sending to Orlais for aid was completely unacceptable. Loghain would do everything in his power to see that didn't happen.

"And when will you do this?" Cailan asked him.

"I will be leaving a small force here, in Ostagar," Duncan said. "But the rest of us will be leaving in a day or two, Your Majesty."

Cailan nodded. "So the same time we'll be leaving to return to Denerim, then," he mused. "Very well. When you have gathered your men, bring them to Denerim as well."

"Your Majesty," Duncan said, bowing his head a little.

Cailan obviously took that as agreement or assent, but Loghain had to wonder if Duncan would do as asked. Technically, the king had no authority over the Grey Wardens. It was clear that Cailan believed himself to be a friend of the Wardens, and therefore assumed that they would do as he asked, as he commanded. Loghain knew that was not how their order worked. They had their own agenda and their own priorities, and he doubted there was anything Cailan could say to change that. But he wouldn't say anything to convince the king of that. If Cailan believed the Wardens would do as he wished, then perhaps that would help keep him from consorting with the Orlesians. Even the thought of such actions made Loghain wrinkle his nose in disgust.

The meeting did not go on for much longer. Despite his eagerness, there was little that Cailan could plan for at so early a time. Once they were finally dismissed, Loghain went immediately to Cauthrien. He let her know of the plans, so that she could see to readying the men to march. On his way back to his tent, Loghain looked around. They would be leaving that cursed place soon. He was more than ready to go.

…

…

…

The mages were the first to leave Ostagar, not wanting to travel with everyone else. Sayre figured that was just as well. She had seen few enough mages before, but they always made her a little nervous. Everyone else left at about the same time, at least all of those who were leaving Ostagar, but she couldn't be sure if one could really say they were all traveling together. The king, the teyrn, and the arl all traveled at the front of the procession, along with their armies, while the Grey Wardens stayed to the rear. That was just fine with Sayre.

Duncan had explained the plan to all of them before they set out. They would be traveling north to Lothering, and from there they would split into two groups. One of the older Wardens, a man named Bessom that Sayre had never really spoken to before, was to lead the larger group west from there, first to the Circle Tower via Redcliffe, then on to Orzammar. Sayre would be in the group led by Duncan, which would be going east from Lothering into the Brecilian forest to seek out the Dalish. Sayre had mixed feelings about her assignment. She didn't envy the group going to the Circle, but she would have liked to see Orzammar. She was curious about the Dalish as well, but she'd enough stories to know they weren't terribly fond of city-dwelling elves. But she wasn't given a choice in which group she was to join. Duncan had assigned the newest of the Grey Wardens to travel with him, as he told them there was much for him to teach them about the coming Blight.

She tried her best to learn the names of all of the other Wardens who would be traveling with her, but it was hard because she still continued to hold herself apart from the rest of them. Having Lady at her side helped a little with her nervousness, as she knew the mabari would help protect her if she was ever in any sort of trouble. It would still take some time for her to be completely comfortable around so many humans, however.

A few days after they left Ostagar, Duncan's lessons began. Sometimes she was the only person in attendance, and sometimes there were up to five or six others. The lessons were always informative, but they were often surprising, too. Finding out about her shortened lifespan was certainly a shock, but as Sayre was only twenty years old, having thirty more didn't seem like such a troublesome thing. It was when she found out about the affects the Joining would have on her body, in that she would be unable to have children in the future, that upset her the most. Luckily that meeting with Duncan had been between just the two of them, and when it was over, she retreated from the others to be by herself.

The other Wardens were circled around the fire, and their laughter carried to where Sayre was sitting, by herself near her tent, her cloak wrapped around her body for warmth. Lady sat next to her, the mabari's chin resting on Sayre's leg, but she barely noticed. Instead she twisted at the ring on her left hand, the one that Nelaros would have given her had their wedding ceremony not been interrupted. She had been trying very hard not to think about him or that day, but Duncan's words brought everything back to her.

Though she never would have admitted it to Shianni or Soris, Sayre had actually been excited about her wedding. Sure, she had been nervous at first, but then she met Nelaros, and he was so nice... and so handsome. And while she could never be quite sure of what their life might have been like together, she was certain it would have included children. Now that choice was taken from her, without her even realizing it. Just as so many other choices had been stolen from her. Sayre brushed a tear from her cheek, angry at herself for being as upset as she was. She certainly wouldn't have been able to have children had Duncan not saved her from the noose. No, it was all Vaughn's fault. If only the man had just left her family alone. Sayre heard footsteps approaching, and she realized how distracted she'd allowed herself to become when she looked up to see a figure sitting down next to her.

"You... looked cold, so I brought you some tea," Alistair said. She noticed he wasn't quite looking at her, which could only mean he'd noticed the tears on her face. Wonderful.

"Thank you," she mumbled, gratefully accepting the warm cup to hold between her chilled fingers.

He didn't say anything, and Sayre watched him out of the corner of her eye as she sipped her tea. Rather than press her, Alistair focused his attention on Lady, scratching her behind her ears, then on her stomach as the mabari rolled over to offer it to him. When she finished the last of the tea, Sayre shivered, and it was then that Alistair glanced at her.

"Why don't you come over closer to the fire?" He asked. "It seems silly to sit way over here and freeze."

"I just... needed a moment," she said in a quiet voice.

Alistair frowned at her. "Maker, Sayre," he grumbled. "How many times do we have to..."

She cut him off. "No, it... it's nothing like that. I just... Duncan's latest lesson was..."

"Oh," Alistair replied. "And which lesson was that?"

Sayre could feel her face going a little red. It was embarrassing to admit Duncan's news affected her so much. Grey Wardens shouldn't really care about such things, should they? "Just... about one more way in which the Wardens are denied the ability to have normal lives." When he gave her a confused look, she shrugged a shoulder. "You know, the ability to have a... a family."

"Oh, that," Alistair said in a strange voice. "Right, I... guess that part never bothered me much. I mean, I was raised in the Chantry, after all, so I guess I'd grown up used to the idea that I would never have a family in that way. But..." He gestured to the other Wardens. "_We _are a family, and we could be _your _family, if you'll accept us. You'll never want for brothers, that's for sure. And if you want to feel like a mother, well, I'm sure there are plenty of us who would let you clean up after us, darn our socks, make our food, things like that..."

He grinned at her then, and Sayre couldn't help but smile as she shook her head at him. "Such a gracious offer," she said, and he grinned even more.

"I know," Alistair replied, trying to sound serious. "My generosity knows no bounds. Now come on. Come sit by the fire before you freeze to death." He stood and offered her his hand, and Sayre only hesitated a moment before accepting it.

The rest of the trip to Lothering went quickly. The Wardens planned on staying there for a few days, but the king and his men decided to continue on to Denerim. Sayre was happy to see them all go, glad that their group was reduced to only Grey Wardens. It was mid-afternoon when they arrived in the town, and it was decided that they would all set up their tents north of town, since the only inn in the town was nowhere near large enough to accommodate them all. As she was wandering about the town, Sayre noticed something odd. There was a very large man locked inside a cage. He noticed her staring, and he just stared back.

Feeling bold, though likely it was mostly due to the mabari at her side, Sayre went over to him. "Hello," she said, peering up at him.

The giant grunted at her. "Have you come to throw stones at me as well?" He asked in a deep, gruff voice. "I will not be made to amuse you, if that's why you're here."

Sayre's eyebrows lifted in surprise. She took an involuntary step back, and she might have fled from him had her hand not brushed across Lady's head. The touch of her mabari calmed her. "Why are you in this cage?" Sayre asked him.

The giant huffed. "I was put here by the Chantry," he said.

"Why?" Sayre asked, though she winced when the word left her mouth.

"I heard he killed an entire family," Ben said, coming up beside her. "Even the children."

"It is as he says," the giant confirmed, much to Sayre's surprise.

"Best leave this one alone," Ben put in before strolling away, towards the direction of the tents, a bag slung over his shoulder. It was obvious he had hurried through any shopping he'd needed to do in town.

Another grunt escaped from the giant's lips as he watched Ben leave. "Perhaps you should follow your friend's advice and leave me be. I am to die soon enough."

Sayre knew he was probably right, that she should leave him alone, but something about the giant of a man tugged at her. Maybe it was because she would have been left in a similar predicament, had Duncan not saved her. Thoughts of Duncan made her look into the town. She wondered what he would make of the giant in the cage. "I'll be back," she said before hurrying into town, not waiting to hear the giant's response.

But when she finally found Duncan, she realized she had no idea what she was going to say to him. It seemed he'd already heard of the prisoner, however. "What is it you're asking me to do?" He asked her as she stuttered before him.

"I... don't know," Sayre admitted. "It just doesn't seem right, leaving him there in that cage like that. Are they just leaving him there to starve? That seems... unkind, even if he _is _a... if he's done the things they claim."

Duncan laid a hand on her shoulder, "Grey Wardens are not meant to interfere in civil matters, Sayre."

"You did to save me," she countered, not able to help the touch of sullenness that tinged her voice. Why did she even care, she wondered. The giant was no one to her. She owed him nothing, nor did she think he would expect anything from her.

Duncan sighed softly. "What I did with you, Sayre, was for the good of the order." His voice took on a gentle tone. "I did not conscript you out of kindness, nor because I believed you to be innocent, or that you were justified in what you did. I conscripted you because I knew you would be an asset to the Grey Wardens, especially considering the times we are in right now." He squeezed her shoulder. "I can look into the matter, but I can't promise anything. Our main focus right now is to gather our armies to fight the Archdemon and the Blight."

He dismissed her then, as he had other things to attend to, but Sayre couldn't help but feel like she was slinking away with her tail between her legs. But what had she really expected? Trying to push it from her mind, she went in search of an armorer who could repair her armor. He apparently agreed with Loghain's assessment of her equipment, in that she needed a new set, but Sayre wasn't surprised to learn he had nothing that would fit her that was pre-made, and she knew they wouldn't be lingering in Lothering long enough for her to commission him to make something for her specifically. However, once her group found the Dalish elves, they might be persuaded to trade with her for new armor.

As the sun began to set, Sayre set off towards the tents, most of the small purchases she'd made tucked safely into her pack. One small package she kept in her hands, and as she passed by the giant's cage, she paused, slipping it between the bars.

"What is this?" The giant asked, not moving to take it.

"I... thought you might be hungry," Sayre said.

He peered at her a moment before shaking his head. "Do you do this to taunt me?"

"What?" Sayre blinked at him. "No, I..." She fidgeted.

He shook his head again, as if puzzled by her actions. "Your kindness is as unexpected as it is unnecessary. Food and water will only delay the inevitable."

Sayre frowned. "Oh. But I..."

"Please take it away," the giant asked.

She moved to take the package back, but then she stopped. If he didn't want to eat, that was up to him. She turned and continued on to the campsite. Sayre heard the giant grumbling behind her, but she didn't look to see what he did with the package of food she left behind.

Two days later, they all rose at dawn to leave Lothering. She had been too busy packing up her tent to notice Bessom's group leaving, heading west towards Redcliffe, but Sayre glanced at the group following Duncan east and was pleased to see it contained many of the Wardens she knew best. Besides herself, the group was made up of Alistair, Leonas, Ben, Eddro, and Nevar, as well as some others she didn't know well. A surprising addition to the group was a woman she'd seen around town. She was pretty, with hair a shade of red that was much darker than Sayre's own straw-colored tresses. She was dressed in the clothing of the Chantry, and Sayre wondered what she was doing with them. From what she gathered from the others, the woman, apparently named Leliana, had all but begged Duncan to be allowed to travel with them. The woman caught her looking at her and gave Sayre a friendly smile. Maybe it would be nice, to have another woman in the group.

As they were making their way out of town, Sayre felt a pang that she hadn't been able to do more for the giant. She glanced in the direction of the cage and gave a start when she realized it was empty. "Duncan," she called, making her way over to him. "What... what happened to..." She turned her attention back to the cage.

Duncan's response was in a low voice. "I had a talk yesterday with the Revered Mother. She agreed with your assessment that the man could not be left there to starve." When he said no more, Sayre's face fell.

"Oh," she said.

Duncan turned from her, calling for everyone to begin their march east, away from Lothering. Sayre quickly let herself fall to the back of the group. She gave the town one last look over her shoulder. Why did she care so much what happened to the giant? He was a murderer, after all. He had admitted as much. But then, was she any different? Maybe there was nothing she could have done for the man, but Sayre couldn't help but feel guilty that she might have played a part in the giant's death, assuming he'd been executed instead of left to starve.

Lady woofed at her and licked her hand, bringing Sayre's attention to the fact that she was lagging behind the others. She scratched the mabari behind her ears before hurrying to catch up.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Well, hello there. It's been a long time since last we met. I apologize for the disgustingly long delay. Unfortunately I really stretched myself to the limit last semester, and I had absolutely no free time whatsoever. Now that the semester is over, I finally have the chance to write again. I hope some of you are still with me, though I'll admit that even I had to go back and reread all of the previous chapters before I could begin writing this one. _

The first part of their journey towards the Brecilian Forest was rather dull. They traveled along the Imperial Highway from sunup to sundown each day, and Alistair was sure he couldn't possibly be the only one growing bored and annoyed with the dullness of the scenery. Then again, it was also quite possible that his irritation was due to something else entirely. Or some_one _else. It was true that the Grey Wardens and the nobles had parted ways in Lothering, and they had been on their own for some time, but Alistair was still stewing over the fact that Eamon had all but ignored him while their groups were still traveling together. Yes, there had been a couple times when the arl had sought him out, but they barely got past awkward pleasantries before the elder man was being called away for one reason or another. Alistair hadn't seen Eamon in years, and he was the closest thing he'd ever really had to a father, so he would have thought Eamon might have tried a little harder to spend some time with him. Sure, they hadn't parted on the best of terms, but still...

Alistair grumbled to himself, trying to push thoughts of the arl from his mind. He had managed well enough without him for this long, hadn't he? With a sigh, Alistair rose from where he'd been seated near the fire and went to go wash out the bowl he'd used for his dinner. However, as he turned on his heel, he collided with someone and managed to spill the last remaining bits of his stew onto his tunic.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Leliana said, placing a hand on his arm to steady him. "How clumsy of me." She wiped at the front of his tunic, causing a blush to rise in his cheeks.

The woman had a way of unsettling him. She always seemed a little too friendly, a little more hands-on than he felt was absolutely necessary. Not that Alistair always minded, of course. Leliana was very pretty, after all. And everyone seemed to like her, including Sayre. Maybe his discomfort was because he was always conscious that Leliana was a woman, in a way that he'd never been with Sayre. With the elven woman, he always just saw her as another Grey Warden, but that was certainly not the case with Leliana. She had a way of reminding him that he was uncultured and unused to being around women. Especially beautiful women. She just smiled at him as he mumbled his own apology before scurrying off to attend to his dirty utensils. But as he hurried away, Alistair couldn't help but notice the smirk on the face of the third woman in their traveling party.

They had only been out of Lothering for a few days when the swamp witch had just shown up in their camp. _Like magic_, he thought with a scowl. Morrigan's sudden appearance had caused a bit of a commotion, yet no one seemed as annoyed with her presence as he was. She spent most of her time with Sayre and Leliana, though Eddro had taken an immediate liking to her. Alistair couldn't understand the draw.

He strode away from the circle of tents, which sat just to the side of the road, to go to the small stream that had been running alongside it for the past few days. A soft _woof _from Lady greeted him as he got close, and Sayre turned to look at him, water dripping from her face. She wiped it off with a towel before giving him a nod. Alistair idly scratched at Lady's head before kneeling to wash his bowl and spoon. When he finished, he rose to see Sayre still standing there, looking at him curiously.

"What is it?" Alistair asked.

"Nothing," Sayre said quickly, shaking her head. "It's just... Is everything all right with you? You've seemed... strange lately."

The question startled him. Was Sayre actually attempting to show concern for someone? "I'm fine," he said, giving his head a little shake. Alistair turned to go, but then he remembered the stew that was settling into his tunic, and he turned back to the stream. Setting his things aside, he reached down to cup some of the water to splash it on his chest, but all he seemed to manage to do was to rub the stew in even deeper.

"Here," Sayre said, and he looked up to see her holding out a bar of soap.

"Thanks," he muttered, reaching to take it from her hand. Their fingers brushed against each other, but she didn't jerk back from him. He almost commented on it, but she had already turned away, Lady padding softly behind her as the two of them made their way back to the campsite.

Alistair did the best he could with his tunic before finally just giving up. Really, what was one more stain on the already dingy garment? As he rung the cold water from the tunic, he turned his head to peer off in the direction of the camp. Sayre thought _he _was acting strange lately? She was the one who was acting strangely. Or at least differently from how she'd previously been. Though really, the changes he'd seen in her were welcome ones. It seemed that having the other women around actually helped her to open up, to be more friendly and outgoing. She was still a little quite and standoffish with the other men, but it was getting better. He'd even heard her laugh aloud at a story Leliana had been telling a few nights past. Of course, everyone enjoyed Leliana's stories, including Duncan. Everyone except for Morrigan, that was.

He learned quickly enough to stay away from the apostate mage. She was just as mean and unpleasant as he remembered her being from the first time they'd met. Alistair just couldn't understand why Duncan would allow her to travel with them. True, they didn't have a mage in their party, but he wondered how helpful she might actually be in a fight. Would Morrigan actually move to help anyone other than herself? Alistair doubted it. Still, it had been Duncan's choice to allow her to remain, so there was little Alistair could do about it. Other than complain to anyone who would listen, of course.

When he got back to the camp, the men who had watch that night, Juyles, Jon, and Wilton, had already retired to their tents. Alistair didn't see Duncan anywhere either. The rest of the group was divided into two. Sayre, Leliana, and Morrigan sat off by themselves. Alistair glanced at the soap Sayre had given him, then went to toss it into his tent. He'd give it back to her later, when the witch wasn't around. Instead, he went to sit by the other men. Leonas sat carving into a piece of wood, as he did every night. Ben, Eddro, and Nevar were talking quietly, and Alistair overheard the end of their conversation as he sat down.

"...guess that means I'd have to kill Sayre," Ben was saying.

"What?" Alistair sputtered, looking at each of the men in turn. "What are you talking about?"

Eddro laughed. "It's just a little game," he said, gesturing with a tilt of his head to the three women sitting on the other side of the fire. "Of the three of 'em, you have to decide which one of 'em you'd kill, which one you'd marry, and which one you'd just..."

"Fuck," Ben finished for him.

Eddro waved his hand. "_Have relations with_, Ben. I'm sure our innocent friend here does not appreciate such language, do ya?" He asked, clapping Alistair on the back.

"Well, obviously Morrigan is the one you'd kill," Alistair replied absently, wrinkling his nose. The other men hooted at his response.

"Oh, no," Nevar said with a chuckle. "She's definitely the one you'd want to take back to your tent for a romp."

"All right, so we know one of your answers," Eddro said, still grinning at him like an idiot. "So what about the other two? Which one would you marry, and which one would you just... use for an evening?"

Alistair shrugged his shoulder to push Eddro's hand away. "I... I'm not playing this game."

"Oh, but you already started," Eddro said. "Come on. Which one is which?"

"Well, obviously he'd have to marry Sayre," Ben said with a grin. "Since she likely wouldn't be any fun in the sack, elf or not. Which then puts him spending the evening with the lovely Leliana."

"What? No, I..." Alistair shook his head, feeling his face heat up. "I never said..."

The others laughed at his embarrassment, and Alistair almost got up to leave when Eddro turned his attention to the other man sitting there. "What about you, Leonas?" He asked. "We know you can hear us."

Alistair felt relieved as the conversation turned from him, and he turned to look at the older man.

"How do you think any one of those women would react to hearing about the conversation you're having right now?" Leonas asked, not looking up from his carving. "I don't think any of them would appreciate it very much." He looked up, and Alistair saw the corner of Leonas' mouth quirk up into a smile. "That being said, I'd sleep with Leliana, kill Morrigan, and marry Sayre."

Alistair gaped at him, but the others just laughed. "And why those choices?" Nevar asked.

Leonas shrugged. "Never cared much for mages. And as there is really only one honorable choice there, I would reserve that for our fellow Grey Warden."

Alistair just shook his head and stood up, excusing himself from the group. He made some excuse about being tired, but he doubted any of them even heard him. That was just as well, as he hated drawing attention to himself when they got on such topics. He could still hear their laughter as he ducked into his tent.

The next day they finally left the Imperial Highway and began traveling into the forest. Morrigan, who had made no secret of her unnatural abilities, shifted into a wolf and bounded away from the group, allegedly to scout around. Duncan led at the front of the party, and Leliana seemed to stay close to him. While Alistair would have liked to be up there as well, he allowed himself to lag behind to the rear of the group, where Sayre was.

"I have your soap," he said once he fell back to her side.

"I know," Sayre said, her eyes on the woods that were quickly closing around them. "My memory's not so bad as not to remember giving it to you last night."

Alistair sighed softly, and the walked in silence for a time. "So what did you mean when you said I've seemed strange?" He finally blurted out.

"I meant no offense," Sayre said, meeting his eye for a moment. "You've just been quiet lately. Sullen almost. Since we left Lothering."

Since Eamon had left, although Sayre couldn't know that was the cause for his mood. "Well, Lothering was such a delightful place." Alistair let out a dramatic sigh. "I do miss it so."

"Of course, that must be it," Sayre replied with a shake of her head. She didn't press him further, though, and for that he was grateful.

The Highway may have been boring, but at least traveling it wasn't as tedious as moving through the forest. Every day, it seemed like they moved more and more slowly as the trees grew closer and closer together, and the underbrush grew taller and more dense. At least it had also gotten a bit warmer. Game was plentiful in the forest, and they always ate well each night. Sayre was often able to pick off a few rabbits or squirrels while they walked, and she'd even trained her mabari to go fetch the animals without breaking the arrows she'd shot into them.

Alistair couldn't say for sure how long they'd been traveling before they found the Dalish elves, but one minute they were walking along in the forest, and the next they were surrounded by arrows pointed at their heads. Only Sayre and Duncan had managed to draw their own weapons that Alistair could see, but both quickly put them up when they saw they were outnumbered. After a quick explanation from Duncan, though, the elves surrounding them quickly turned into an escort to take them into the camp.

The Wardens and Leliana stayed back as Duncan went to speak with the leaders of the Dalish. Morrigan was nowhere to be seen, which didn't bother Alistair any. Leliana attempted to strike up a conversation with the Dalish, but the rest of them remained silent. Sayre was no exception to that, and Alistair was surprised to see her almost cowering from the stares she was getting. He was confused by the hostility the Dalish seemed to have towards her. They were all elves, were they not? He would have expected Sayre to be welcomed into their encampment.

When Duncan returned, he instructed them all to set up their tents in a small clearing just outside the ring made by the wagons the Dalish used. "Seems there's a bit of trouble in the camp," Duncan informed them once they had gotten settled. "The keeper, Zathrian, informed me that many of his warriors are ill, struck down by a disease or a curse. I'm not entirely certain which, but apparently it has something to do with the werewolves roaming these woods."

"But we encountered no such creatures on our journey here," Sayre stated quietly.

"I know," Duncan replied, his tone grim. "And I'm not sure just how much of the story Zathrian is keeping from me. However, warriors who are ill cannot aid us in fighting the Blight."

"So what are we to do, then?" Leonas asked him.

"Zathrian believes that the illness can be cured, or lifted, if we hunt down the werewolves of the forest and bring back the heart of the one called Winterfang," Duncan answered, and Alistair could tell the older man was not pleased by the idea. "So I will be taking a small group with me into the forest. The rest of you will stay here until our return." He looked around. "Leonas, Jon, Eddro, and Wilton will come with me." Duncan turned his eyes toward Sayre. "And your Lady as well, if you are both willing."

The mabari lifted her head at her name. "You don't want me to come along as well?" Sayre asked.

Duncan shook his head. "No, Sayre, I don't. I would rather you stay here and see if you can get yourself a better set of armor. We'll be going to Denerim after this, but we can't say for sure how long we will be staying there."

Sayre ducked her head, and Alistair could tell she was embarrassed by the way the tips of her ears turned pink. She covered it, though, by going to a knee in front of her dog. "Lady, will you go with Duncan and the others into the forest while I stay here?" The mabari cocked her head to one side, then let out a soft bark before turning to face Duncan. She padded up to him and licked the hand proffered to her.

"Very well," Duncan said. "We will leave in the morning. The rest of you are to stay in the camp until our return."

…

…

…

Duncan and the others had been gone for two days before Sayre finally worked up the courage to leave the small ring of tents the Grey Wardens had set up and venture into the Dalish camp with the others. It seemed silly to be so scared, but she knew she hadn't imagined the looks she'd gotten from some of the Dalish when they arrived. They seemed much more willing to accept the humans in their midst than to accept her. She ignored the stares as best she could as she made her way to the man who had done all the trading with the other Wardens. Varathorn was said to be a master craftsman, though Sayre wasn't quite sure what that meant. But if anyone had armor to sell or trade, surely it would be him.

"Ah, hello," said Varathorn as she approached his aravel. "I had heard that one of our city-dwelling cousins was among the Grey Wardens. What can I do for you?"

Sayre relaxed a little at Varathorn's easy manner. "I was hoping I might either purchase or trade for some armor," she said, her hand going to the pocket that held the coins Duncan had given her.

Varathorn took a step towards her, then moved in a circle around her. "Hmm.. yes... I think I have a few things that could be tailored to you easily enough." He went inside his aravel, then came back out holding a pile of leathers. "Try these on and we'll see how close of a fit they are."

Sayre hesitated. "Out here?" She asked.

The man chuckled softly. "You may go inside to try them on," he said, gesturing to the door of the aravel.

With a nod, Sayre ducked inside. She ran her fingers over the supple leather before removing her own armor. The pieces he had given her seemed to fit well enough, but it appeared as though there was a piece missing. "Varathorn?" Sayre called out as she poked her head out through the door.

"Yes, come out. Let me see," he said, beckoning to her.

"I... think I'm missing something," Sayre said, keeping the door closed enough that it covered most of her.

"Don't be shy," Varathorn said. "Come out."

He reached for the door, and Sayre had no choice but to step outside, though she kept her arms folded over her exposed stomach. Surely he must have forgotten to give her... but as Sayre glanced around, she noticed other women about in similar garb, women who did not seem the least bit embarrassed by the fact that they were showing entirely too much skin to be decent. Did Varathorn really expect her to wear such a thing? To make matters worse, she appeared to have attracted the attention of far too many people who were nearby. Leliana, Alistair, and Ben were standing not too far away, and all three had turned to look in her direction. There was also a small group of Dalish men who did not try to hide the fact that they were openly staring in her direction.

"I can't wear this," Sayre said quietly. "It's not decent." When Varathorn's eyes narrowed just a bit, she quickly added, "It doesn't provide decent covering I mean. Decent protection."

"It is no different from what anyone else is wearing," Varathorn said shortly, gesturing to the elves around him.

"Yes, but..." She moved her arms, which caused her to expose her bare stomach but which also allowed her to let him see the scar at her side. "I've already once taken an arrow to this area." She turned so that he could see both the entry and the exit sites. "So I'm sure you can imagine that I feel strongly about keeping it protected. And covered."

Varathorn muttered something under his breath and went back into the aravel, leaving Sayre outside in her indecent armor. She turned as she saw a figure approaching from the corner of her eye, and she felt like the breath had been knocked out of her when her eyes landed on his face. He was Dalish, with tattoos covering part of his face, but it was what was under the tattoos that caused her heart to pound. The man looked very much like Nelaros. She must have been staring too long because the haughty look on the man's face turned into a smirk. He got to her just as Varathorn came back outside.

"Are you outfitting flat-ears now, Varathorn?" The man asked in a condescending voice.

"Now, Lanthon," Varathorn replied. "Be polite to our guests."

Lanthon just scoffed and turned away from Sayre. "Is my bow ready?" He asked.

"Oh. Yes, it's right here," Varathorn said as he went to retrieve the bow.

Sayre couldn't help but notice the proud look on his face as he presented it to Lanthon, though when her eyes fell to the weapon, she could see why. The bow was beautiful, a work of art as well as a weapon, and her hand seemed to reach out for it all on its own. "It's lovely," she breathed.

Lanthon yanked it back from her. "Don't touch it," he barked. "You probably don't even know how to use one of these," he added, which got a few chuckles from his friends, who had come to admire Varathorn's work.

"Of course she does," came a reply from Sayre's back, and she turned to see Leliana, Alistair, and Ben coming over as well. "Sayre is a skilled archer," Leliana continued, giving everyone one of her smiles.

"No one's as good as Lanthon," said one of the Dalish.

"Oh, I bet Sayre's better," Leliana said casually, and Sayre gave her a hard look, which was completely ignored. "In fact, I'd be willing to make a wager on it."

"Leliana!" Sayre said.

"What sort of wager?" Lanthon asked.

"Leliana!" Sayre said again, and this time the woman turned to her.

"Oh, come on. It would be fun, yes? We could set up a tournament," Leliana grinned. "Why don't you go change back into your armor, and we'll get this all figured out."

Sayre turned away from Leliana to look at Alistair and Ben, hoping to receive some sort of support from either of them, but while they were both looking at her, neither of them were looking at her face. As the blood rushed to her ears, Sayre wrapped her arms around her middle and scurried into the wagon to change back into her own armor. When she finished and went back outside, everyone was gone. She tried to focus on what Varathorn was saying to her, and she was sure he got her to agree to something, but she couldn't be sure what it was, and she rushed back to her own camp as soon as she could. Leliana was nowhere to be found, but Alistair was just coming out of his tent, and she went straight to him.

"Where is she?" Sayre demanded.

"I don't know," Alistair said, trying to cover a smile. "Hiding from you, if she knows what's good for her." Sayre scowled. "Oh, don't be too mad at her," he added. "She's been trying to encourage interactions between the Dalish and the Wardens since we got here."

"I don't see why _I _have to be involved," Sayre grumbled.

"Well, she probably sees you as the link between the two groups," he said, and Sayre narrowed her eyes at him. "You know, because you're..."

"What, because I'm an elf?" She demanded. "Because I look like them, we should all just automatically get along?" Alistair took a small step back from her. "The Dalish _hate _city elves, Alistair. _Everyone _knows that."

"Yes, I know. You have it so rough," Alistair muttered under his breath. Sayre's eyes widened, but he just held his hands up. "Look, you're angry. I get it. Don't take it out on me." And with that, he turned and walked away from her.

Sayre just stared at him as he disappeared from view. A part of her wanted to follow after Alistair, to make him understand why she had a right to be upset. Instead she grabbed her bow and quiver and set out into the woods to do some hunting. She knew she wasn't supposed to be going outside of the camp, but she didn't care right then. Sayre had only gotten a little ways away from the tents before she sank down onto a fallen log and covered her face with her hands. Why couldn't Duncan have taken her with him? Why did Leliana feel the need to put her in the middle of everything? And why couldn't Sayre just smile and get along with everyone instead of taking everything so personally?

A twig snapped, and Sayre moved, drawing an arrow before she was even fully aware of what was in front of her. The wolf stood frozen, only a pace away from where the tip of the arrow was pointed at its head. Sayre sighed and lowered her weapon.

"You should know better than to sneak up on people like that," Sayre admonished as the wolf took the last step to sit at her side. She closed her eyes as the wolf's form changed, and when she opened them again, Morrigan was sitting next to her. "I could have killed you, you know."

"Perhaps 'tis you who are too jumpy," the woman replied.

Sayre sighed again. "It must be nice, to be able to just... change into something else and disappear whenever you wish," she said.

Morrigan laughed lightly. "At times, yes." The witch eyed Sayre's bow. "Did you come out here to hunt?" Sayre nodded. "Then let's hunt," she said and shifted back into a wolf before Sayre could even offer an answer.

The two women spent the rest of the day in the woods. Morrigan stayed in her wolf form, which was fine with Sayre. She didn't particularly feel like speaking. When she finally made her way back to camp, she was loaded down with a number of rabbits, quail, and a large turkey. Leliana rushed over to her as soon as she saw her.

"Where have you been?" The woman demanded. "We've been looking for you." She frowned, eying the game on Sayre's back. "You know it's not safe out in the woods."

"I thank you for your concern," Sayre said dryly before pushing the dead animals into Leliana's arms. "Here, why don't you pluck and skin these while I clean up."

Once Sayre returned from washing up, the rabbits had already been placed on a spit to cook. Leliana was telling everyone about the competition that was to take place the following day. Sayre could feel the eyes on her as Leliana spoke, but she was able to ignore them. Well, most of them anyway. Alistair's gaze bothered her, and Sayre retreated to her tent as soon as she was done eating. She was about to duck inside when she felt a hand on her arm.

"That was a really stupid thing to do," Alistair said quietly when she turned around. "You heard what Duncan said before he left. He didn't want anyone leaving the camp."

"Well, as you can see, I managed to survive the trip. I was never in any danger. Nor was I alone while I was out there." At Alistair's raised eyebrow, Sayre elaborated. "Morrigan was with me."

"Oh right," he said, crossing his arms. "Because _she's _the person I'd want guarding _my _back when it comes down to it." Alistair shook his head. "I don't trust her, and I don't think anyone else should either. Just remember that she's dangerous. And evil. And _mean_."

Sayre let out a little sigh, deciding to just ignore his comments about Morrigan. "Look, you were... right," Sayre said, though it almost hurt her to admit it. "I was angry earlier, and I was taking it out on you. But since you left and deprived me of my target, I decided to go take out my anger on some poor, defenseless woodland creatures instead."

"Poor little bunnies," Alistair replied, and Sayre nearly choked on a laugh. He grinned at her response. "Yes, well... I suppose you should get some rest. There's a lot of money riding on your performance tomorrow."

"There's... what?"

Alistair smiled. "You didn't think Leliana was the only one who'd made a wager, did you?"

…

There were two sets of matching targets set up in the field, and lines had been marked on the ground at varying distances from them. It seemed like the entire camp had turned out for the little competition, and Sayre was surprised by how nervous she felt. There was a little irritation there as well, for having allowed Leliana to bully her into participating in the whole thing, but at the same time, Sayre hoped she might be able to show the Dalish that she wasn't the incompetent city-dweller that they all assumed her to be. Some of them turned their noses up at her more than most humans would, and that bothered her more than she might have thought it would.

There was little ceremony to the beginning of the competition, for which Sayre was grateful. They were both to attempt a number of shots, and they would be awarded points for both accuracy and speed. The problem, though, was that she and Lanthon were fairly evenly matched.

"We need to change something up or we'll be here all day," Lanthon muttered to her after they'd both made a particularly difficult shot.

"Oh, so you're acknowledging that I _do _in fact know how to use on of these?" Sayre asked, giving her bow a little shake.

Lanthon just grunted at her. "Why don't we combine the last few shots we had to make and turn it into a race?" Those last few shots had been a test of their accuracy. A long, horizontal stick had been placed so that it stretched above the two targets, and metal rings hung down from the stick on strings of different lengths. The rings were all different sizes, with the smallest being just barely big enough for an arrowhead to pass through it. "The first person to get an arrow through each of the five rings wins," Lanthon continued. "Agreed?"

"Fine by me," Sayre consented, ready for the whole thing to be over.

They each took their places in front of the targets. Lanthon had his quiver on the ground where he could pull arrows from it, but Sayre kept hers on her back. Someone counted down from three, and then they began. Sayre drew an arrow and took a moment to aim at the smallest ring before loosing it. She heard a clang as the head of the arrow struck the side of the ring. She had missed, but the arrow was stuck into the target next to the ring, effectively keeping it from swinging back and forth. She took aim again, and her second shot hit true. The next four she made on her first try, and when the last ring had been pierced, she called out, "Done."

Lanthon had an arrow drawn, and he loosed it just as Sayre spoke. His arrow found its mark, going through the last of his rings, but he had been just a little too slow. "Congratulations," he said over the cheers of those assembled. "It would seem I underestimated you." He held up his bow.

Sayre glanced down at the weapon. "I don't understand."

"It's your prize," he said, giving her a strange look. "The wager made with your red-headed friend over there. Take it."

"I... couldn't," Sayre said, shaking her head.

Lanthon just looked angry at her refusal. "You would have me go back on my word in front of everyone? It's yours. Take it."

"Thank you," Sayre managed as he placed it into her hands.

"Don't thank me," Lanthon said, his anger replaced by what almost looked like amusement. "It's not a gift."

Later that evening, once she finally managed a moment alone, Sayre snuck off into the woods again to test out her new bow. It was finer than anything she'd ever touched before, and she spent a long time just running her fingers over the carvings in the wood, familiarizing herself with every detail. Once she was done examining it, she looked around for a suitable tree to use as a target and fired off a couple test shots.

"It's not bad, is it?" A voice said behind her.

Sayre turned to see Lanthon leaning against a nearby tree, watching her. She hadn't even heard him approach. "Have you come to take it back, now that there are no others watching?" She asked, taking a step away from him.

Lanthon snorted. "A man's word isn't worth much if he only keeps it in public." He smiled. "Besides, I can always get Varathorn to make me another one."

"Oh," Sayre said softly. "Was there... something you needed then?" She asked when the man continued to stand there, watching her.

"We're all just a little curious about you, I suppose," he said with a shrug of his shoulder. "How exactly does an elven woman come to find herself traveling with such a large group of human men?"

"We're Grey Wardens," Sayre said. "I'm not sure what you're implying..."

"When you showed up here, we all just assumed you were the camp whore," Lanthon offered by way of explanation, in such a matter-of-fact way that left Sayre gaping. "I mean no offense," he added.

"You mean no..." Sayre felt her face heat in anger. "How can what you said be anything _but _offensive?"

"We've all heard stories about the city elves and their... relationships with the shemlen," he said.

"You presume too much. _Way _too much. You know nothing of what it's like for us there. Nothing!" Sayre's voice had risen, and Lanthon took a step towards her.

She threw the bow at him, which he managed to catch before it hit his chest. Sayre stepped around him to go back to camp, but as she passed he reached out and grabbed her arm. Maybe Lanthon had wanted to say something, but she never gave him the chance. As she turned to face him, Sayre's fist flew at his face. Not expecting the blow, Lanthon made no move to block her, and she hit him square in the nose, landing the punch with a sickening crack.

"You bitch," he cried out.

He took a step forward, then reached to grab at her. The two of them grappled for a moment, but they finally ended up on the ground, Sayre atop him, raining blows down on his face and chest. Lanthon could only hold his hands up in front of him in an attempt to block her frenzied assault. It wasn't until a pair of arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her off of him that Sayre even realized what she was doing, but by that time, Lanthon lay unmoving on the ground, his face a bloody mess.


	9. Chapter 9

The cheers from his people as he returned to Denerim never seemed to get old, and Cailan allowed himself to bask in their adoration as he rode from the city gates to the palace. Both Eamon and Loghain broke off from his party as they moved through the city, each going to their own estates, but Fergus requested to accompany him to the palace. The Couslands had their own estate in Denerim as well, as did all of the high-ranking nobles of Ferelden, but there would be little to no staff there. Certainly not enough to tend to the man's needs. It was no secret that the trip had been difficult on him, as his many wounds were still healing, and they'd only just managed to keep infection at bay. Fergus needed a skilled healer, but that wasn't the only reason Cailan agreed to letting him stay at the palace. If Rendon Howe's accusations against the Couslands were true, he wanted to keep the man where he could watch him.

Cailan was a bit surprised to find Anora waiting for him when he finally made it through the palace doors. He instructed his steward to make arrangements for Fergus' stay before he went to his wife. Finding himself in desperate need of feminine attention, Cailan had planned on seeking out one of his favorites as soon as he returned, but perhaps his wife might actually be the one to see to his needs. With his most charming smile plastered on his face, he went over to her.

"Hello, my queen," he murmured to her. "Did you miss me?" The paleness of her face shocked him. "Why, Anora... were you worried for me?"

She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, and he steered them towards his private rooms. "You cannot begin to imagine the rumors we have heard these last few days. Last few _weeks_, really," she breathed. "I had feared..." Her voice faltered for a moment. "But you are well. You've returned safely, and for that I am glad."

Cailan stopped and turned to face her. "But you got my message. About the Landsmeet? I wanted everything to be..."

"It is," Anora cut in quickly. "All is prepared, and many of the nobles have already begun to arrive. I just... I'm glad you are home."

Cailan gave her hand a squeeze, and they continued on. Once inside his rooms, Anora ordered food and drink and water for a bath, but when all arrived she sent the servants away. At his questioning look, she explained, "I will... bathe you." He couldn't help but smile as she helped him disrobe. This was going much more easily than he might have hoped.

Once he was seated in the tub, Anora sat behind him and began undoing his hair. Cailan closed his eyes as she pulled a comb through it. "Tell me what has been going on in my absence," he ordered.

Anora paused for a moment in her grooming. "There is unrest in the alienage."

Cailan scowled. He'd almost forgotten about the incident with the elven girl, having been caught up in the more important matters of the Blight and the Landsmeet. "Yes, I heard that Bann Vaughan was killed."

"I... yes. How did you hear that already?" Anora asked.

"I met the person responsible for his death," he replied. "Saved from the noose by the Grey Wardens' Right of Conscription."

Anora's lovely fingers worked their way up into his hair to massage his scalp. "They should have just killed the fool. As it is, I've ordered the alienage to be completely closed off. No one going in or out. It was the only thing I could think of to keep a riot from occurring."

Cailan took one of her hands and kissed the inside of Anora's palm. He did not agree with her decision at all, but chastising her would not improve his chances of getting the woman out of her dress. "I think, in cases like these, sometimes it's best to just let things burn out on their own." He kissed her wrist. "I will reopen the alienage, though I will tell my guards to put a patrol there, so nothing can get _too _out of hand. I think it best if we allow the nobles to seek satisfaction for the bann's death. His father deserves that much at least."

"Arl Urien was in Ostagar with you, I thought," Anora said.

Turning around so he could face her, Cailan said, "No. He wasn't there. You mean he's not in Denerim?" Anora shook her head. "That is troubling. If he is gone, and his son is dead, then that means Denerim has no arl."

Her eyes flitted down and then back up to his face. "Arl Howe has been seeking to remedy that problem. He came to the palace a couple weeks ago, looking for support of his claim to the arling of Denerim."

"He expected you to give him your support?" Cailan asked, suspicion coloring his words.

Anora shook her head. "Rather, I think he was hoping Father might give him his, although as he has only just returned and was not here when Rendon came to the palace, the conversation did not go much further than that. I'd already heard what had happened in Highever at that point, and I had already gotten your message about the Landsmeet. I told him that we could not possibly entertain such a notion, especially not until after the Landsmeet. He seemed none too pleased to hear that Fergus was with you and on his way back here."

"Howe always was ambitious, but this seems like a lot even for him," Cailan said, settling back into his bath. "He would seek to control the entire northern half of Ferelden." He closed his eyes. While all of this was important for him to know, it was not exactly the way he wanted to be spending his time just then. "We can worry about all of that later." He smiled at Anora over his shoulder. "Why don't you join me in here?"

Anora laughed. "Don't be ridiculous, Cailan," she said. "Besides, there is one more thing I need to tell you."

Cailan stood and reached for his towel. Taking his time to turn around, he was pleased to see his wife's eyes on him. "Well? What is it?" He asked, making no move to cover himself.

"Oh. Well. Umm..." She gave her head a little shake. "There is a group of Tevinter mages, staying down by the docks. They have requested an audience with you."

"What do they want?" Cailan asked.

"I don't know," Anora admitted. "They wouldn't tell me."

He could tell that she was offended by that, but what did she expect? He was the king, not her. She should realize that some people would not settle for an audience with the queen. However, he had no idea why mages from the Tevinter Imperium might be seeking him out. "Maybe I'll just send some priests to go see what they want," he said casually and was rewarded by Anora's soft laugh. "As for right now, though, I'd rather focus on what _I _want. Hopefully it's the same as what you want, too." Dropping the towel at his feet, Cailan closed the distance between the two of them, and when he reached for her, Anora didn't pull away. Nor did she balk when he led her to the bedroom.

Howe came the next morning, demanding an audience with the king. Of course, demanding _anything _of Cailan was the best way to assure that one would be denied, and he had the man turned away. Rendon was informed that he would have to wait for the Landsmeet like everyone else. Cailan heard later that the arl threw a bit of a fit when he heard that Fergus was staying in the palace, and he also heard that Howe had gone straight to the Mac Tir estate when he was turned away from the palace. Did he think that he might gain the king's favor by first procuring that of the teyrn? Surely the man was not so daft as to think he was going over Cailan's head by going to Loghain. No, that couldn't be it.

A few days before the Landsmeet, only an hour or so after Anora had refused his advances, Cailan was pacing angrily in the halls. He was trying to decide how foolish it would be to sneak off to see one of his favorite maidservants in the castle while it was so full of visiting nobles, when he saw the captain of his guard coming his way.

"Your Majesty," the man said as he bowed. "There was an incident in the alienage late last night."

"Oh?" He said idly. "Is everything quiet now?"

"Well, yes, your Majesty, but..."

"Do any of the nobles have new complaints I should hear of?" Cailan asked, cutting the captain off in mid sentence.

"No, your Majesty," the captain answered.

Cailan nodded. "Good. Continue the patrols. Make sure your men are seen, in the hopes that they will discourage any fighting, but only step in if absolutely necessary."

The captain nodded and offered another bow before he turned and left. Cailan wondered for just a moment if he should have let the man finish, let him tell him what had happened in the alienage, but he knew it was only due to curiosity and nothing more. No, it was better to remain unaware of the details about what went on between the elves and their betters. Besides, they needed to see that they couldn't kill a Bann without repercussions, no matter what the man might have done.

With a start, Cailan realized he had been pacing again, and he'd taken a turn down the hallway where Fergus Cousland was staying. With a grimace, he watched as the door to Fergus' apartments open, but he was relieved to see it was only a servant exiting the room. It was strange, though. While there were certainly many elven servants in the palace, Cailan couldn't say he remembered ever having seen one with tattooed lines down the side of his face. But the elven man was forgotten the moment Cailan turned the next corner, for there in front of him was Nandra, one of the maids of whom he was particularly fond. And she was alone. He smiled to himself. It seemed the day was starting to look up.

…

…

…

It was still early in the evening, but the camp was quiet. Duncan and the others still hadn't returned yet. Leliana was among the Dalish, apparently trying to ease the tension that hung in the air. Sayre was hiding in her tent, with Morrigan of all people. She wouldn't let anyone else in, nor had she told any of them what had happened. So Alistair sat near the fire, wondering what to do. In a way he wished Duncan was there just so that he knew everything would be taken care of. On the other hand, Duncan would not be pleased at all when he got back and heard about all of this.

Alistair had been sitting with Ben and Nevar when they heard the shouting. He still had a hard time believing what they had seen. It was Alistair who'd grabbed Sayre and hauled her off of the Dalish man, and for a moment she had fought against him as well, slamming her head back hard enough to bloody his lip. But then she just went limp in his arms, and he had carried her back to her tent while Ben and Nevar took Lanthon to the Dalish camp. He asked her repeatedly what had happened, but she never uttered a word, and he was just outside her tent when Morrigan appeared.

"Fool woman," Morrigan spat, appearing as if from thin air. Alistair set Sayre back on her feet, though he kept a hand on her shoulder. Morrigan did not act quite so concerned with her state, and she strode forward and struck Sayre across the face. The elf's whole body jerked, and suddenly she was standing up straight. "Into the tent," Morrigan ordered, and then both women had disappeared.

There was nothing he could do but go back to the fire, so that's exactly what Alistair did. Ben returned ten minutes later and informed him that Lanthon had come to as they were walking him back. His nose was broken, and he'd be wearing some nasty bruises for a while, but he was otherwise all right. Nevar had stayed in camp to see if he could find anything out from the man.

"You just left him?" Alistair demanded. "You didn't... do anything?"

"Do anything?" Ben asked, eyebrows raised. "Like what? Don't you think Sayre did enough to him? Look... I know you feel protective of her. But you can't assume that, just because she's a woman, that she's the victim here. You saw it as well as the rest of us. Sayre's in much better shape than Lanthon."

"It's not that I feel _protective_," Alistair protested. "It's just..."

"You were there at her Joining," Ben finished for him. "I know. And I understand that. We all feel that way for the people we've watched go through it. Why do you think I put up with Nevar?" He smiled a little as he shook his head. "But you have to consider the possibility that she's not the perfect Warden that you'd like everyone to be. We already know she's killed a man in the past. She wouldn't be the first recruit who's good at being a Warden but not so good at being a person." When Alistair didn't respond, Ben asked, "Did she tell you what happened?" Alistair shook his head. "Well... Duncan will get it out of her, but I hope it doesn't come down to that." He grimaced. "He will not be happy to come back and find out she's ruined our chances here."

"So what do we do?" Alistair asked.

"Well, we need to find out what happened. And that's probably going to have to be up to you," Ben said. "You're the one who knows her best... if anyone knows her at all."

Nevar returned then, and he sat down next to them with a sigh. "He didn't tell me anything," he said before either of them could ask. "And his friends were making it very clear that they didn't want me there, so..." His eyes slid to Sayre's tent. "Where is she?" Alistair watched the man's eyes narrow. "She'd better..."

Ben placed a hand on Nevar's shoulder. "Alistair's got it covered," he said.

"But..." Alistair hesitated, not wanting to have to be the one to deal with the matter. "Shouldn't we just wait until tomorrow? I mean, it's late, and..."

"No," Nevar said in a tight voice. "The sooner this is dealt with, the better. Look, you're still new enough that you've only seen the warm, fuzzy side of Duncan." Ben snickered at that. "You look at him like he's your best friend, or even as a father-figure, but _we_ know better. Trust us. You don't want to see him mad. And he'll be spittin' fire if he comes back and finds out the Dalish won't honor the treaty because of something _she _did." He jerked his head towards Sayre's tent. "You're also still new enough that we can tell you what to do. At least go find out what happened."

"Right," Alistair mumbled. He couldn't really refuse when they were both telling him the same thing. "Right."

He stood up and turned towards Sayre's tent without another word. When he got to it, he cleared his throat loudly. "I'm coming in," he called out, though he waited a moment to see if there would be any protests. When there were none, he lifted the tent flap, but Morrigan came darting out before he could go inside.

"I hope you have better luck with her than I did," the witch said. "The fool actually broke her hand. I healed it as best I could, but _I should have just let her suffer!_" The last few words were spoken loud enough to ensure that Sayre would hear them.

Alistair glanced into the tent. "Can I?..."

Morrigan threw her hands up. "Do whatever you like. I'm through with her."

The witch's reaction was confusing, and it made Alistair hesitate even more, but when he looked over at Ben and Nevar, they both made shooing motions at him. Taking a deep breath, he ducked into the tent. Sayre was sitting on her bedroll. Her armor lay in a pile in the corner, and she had her knees pulled up against her chest. Alistair was surprised by how small she looked without her armor. It was hard to believe someone who looked like she was barely more than a child could have... He cleared his throat again, and she lifted her head to look at him. The light from her lantern was dim, but he could see the gash above her eye and the bruise rising on her neck. Bandages were wound around her hand.

"Sayre..."

"Please just go away," she whispered, her head dropping to rest atop her knees.

He almost did as she asked. "What happened, Sayre?" He moved to crouch in front of her.

"I... I'm not sure I'm comfortable with you in here with me," Sayre said.

Irritation flared, and Alistair scowled at her. "Well, _I'm _not comfortable with you nearly killing someone we're supposed to be asking for help. Maker's bloody breath, what happened out there?"

"I don't know," was Sayre's response. "Is he... did I... how is he? Lanthon, I mean. Is he all right?"

The question made Alistair feel sick. If she was worried about the man she had just attacked, then maybe Ben was right about her. "He will be," he said slowly. "Sayre, you need to tell us what happened. This is... this could be really bad. I mean, if he did anything to you, or if he tried to... You just need to tell us." When she didn't respond, he raked his fingers through his hair in an exasperated motion. "Some of the others have been in the Dalish camp, trying to calm things down, but we need you to talk to us. You can't just hide in here and expect it all to go away." Alistair's voice picked up speed as he spoke, as if Sayre might be compelled to talk if she could sense his urgency in wanting to be done with the whole ordeal. "Not talking will only make things worse, especially once Duncan gets back."

"I don't know what happened," Sayre said again, her voice almost hoarse. "Or... I don't know _why _it happened. He just looks so much like... someone I used to know. And then he said..." She looked up at Alistair. "What happened was my fault. I will make it right."

"And how are you going to do that?" Alistair asked, the sick feeling only getting worse.

She leaned her head back down on her knees. "I don't... I'll figure it out. Tomorrow, though. Tonight I just... need to be alone. Please, Alistair."

"Fine, tomorrow," Alistair replied through clenched teeth. "But I'm going with you." Her head shot up at that, and he held up a hand. "No, I'm sorry, but I am. This is one time when your desire for privacy isn't going to win out. What happened... what you _did_, it can possibly affect all of us, and we deserve to know what's going on." When she didn't reply, Alistair shrugged. "Unless you'd rather one of the other Grey Wardens went with you. But at least one of us is going with you. Especially since we don't know what Lanthon has told everyone."

Sayre seemed to shrink even smaller. "Fine," she whispered. "Tomorrow, then. But until then, please. I just want to be alone."

Taking a deep breath, Alistair rose and lifted the flap of Sayre's tent. Once outside, he was relieved to see that Ben and Nevar were occupied, as Leliana had apparently just returned from the Dalish camp. However, any thoughts that he might be able to sneak away were dashed as they all looked his way when he emerged from the tent. With a sigh, he walked over to them.

"Well?" Nevar pressed as soon as he made it to the fire. "What did she tell you?"

"Nothing, really," Alistair said. "Or not much anyway. Just that whatever happened was her fault, and that she's going to make things right."

"How?" Nevar demanded.

"I don't know. I assume she's going to apologize for whatever she did. She said she was going to go into camp tomorrow, and..." But Alistair wasn't allowed to finish.

"That's not good enough!" Nevar protested.

"I agree," Ben added. "If she wants to wait until tomorrow to go into camp, that's fine, but she needs to tell us just what in the Maker's name is going on." Without waiting for a reply, the man stood up and stormed over to Sayre's tent. "Sayre!" He hollered. "Come out here." He paused only briefly before adding, "If you don't come out, I'll come in and _drag _you out."

Leliana made a small noise, but Alistair kept his eyes on the tent. Sure enough, Sayre came stumbling out after a moment, a blanket wrapped around her small frame. Ben gestured for her to join the rest of them at the fire, and Alistair almost winced as he watched her walk over, back straight and shoulders stiff, as if trying to give herself as much height as possible. The flickering light from the fire only seemed to make her bruises look worse, but if she was in any pain, it didn't show on her face. In fact, nothing showed on her face.

"You're going to tell us what happened," Nevar started in before she'd even made it all the way to the fire. "I'd suggest you get started. The sooner you tell us, the sooner you can go back to hiding in your tent."

Sayre's eyes seemed distant, as if she was focusing on something far away as she spoke. "I lost my temper," she said, her voice as lifeless as her eyes. "I should not have, and I will apologize for my actions in the morning."

"But _why _did you lose your temper?" Ben asked.

"Lanthon made a comment to which I took offense," Sayre replied automatically, though her voice lowered to something barely above a whisper. Alistair leaned in to hear her, noticing that the others had done the same.

Ben pressed further. "And what was the comment?"

It was then that Alistair noticed the whiteness of Sayre's hands as she gripped her blanket, the slight tremor in her body that she seemed to be fighting to control. "He let me know that all of the Dalish assumed that I was your whore, only traveling along with you to see to your carnal desires, as apparently that was the only reason they could think of to explain why I was among so many human men... as apparently that is the only use a human might see in someone like me." When no one responded, Sayre turned on her heel and went back to her tent.

The men were quiet for a time before Nevar spoke. "Well... can't say I wouldn't have been angry if someone said something like that to _me_, but she's gonna need to grow thicker skin." Leliana made a scoffing sound, and the man rounded on her. "What, are you gonna say that what she did was justified, just because she was insulted?"

"It is obvious she has been... mistreated in the past, yes?" Leliana shrugged a shoulder. "Probably by humans who made the same assumption that the Dalish did. Does that excuse anything? Perhaps not, but it does help to _explain _it better. Did you not see how terrified she was to be standing out here in front of you all, to be interrogated by men who call themselves her brothers?"

"Two questions is not an interrogation," Nevar grumbled.

Leliana turned her eyes on Ben. "Perhaps being threatened that she would be dragged from her tent is what made her nervous, yes?" She held up a hand before he could respond. "She has taken responsibility for what happened and has offered to make amends. I would... suggest waiting to see how that leaves things. It is possible that they will accept her apology and all will be made right, especially assuming there is more to the story than either she or Lanthon is saying."

"Do you think that's the case?" Alistair asked.

Leliana quirked her lips into a smile as she turned to look at him. "I've found that there's _always_ more to any story."


End file.
